Ashes to Ashes, Grist to Grist
by TheAmateur
Summary: A loosely-knit group of high-schoolers in the middle of their senior year find themselves caught up, rather abruptly, in the end of the world. Suddenly, the very game that caused the apocalypse becomes their only hope at having any kind of future. Now the only direction left is forward.
1. I Chapter 1: Home Free

**Act I: Concerning High-Schoolers**

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><p><span>Chapter One: Home Free<span>

2:21.

I glanced at the clock in the upper-right corner of the Mac I was using, murmuring the time quietly to myself.

Four more minutes. Four more minutes, and then… Freedom, for a little while. Two days to break the monotony of the school week, then right back to the old routine that I have been performing ever since my first day of preschool, nearly fifteen years ago.

Everyone else in Mister Robinson's 8th Period video apps class sat in the desks that occupied the main part of the studio classroom. They were all talking pretty loudly, but I couldn't hear what they were saying—I had my earbuds plugged into one of the large Mac computers that lined the walls of the room. I sat at the shelf of Macs along the wall of the room right near the door, so I was usually one of the first ones out when the bell rang.

Of all the computers in Downingtown East High School, the Macs in Room 137, the TV Studio, were probably the best. I'm a staunch PC-lover, but when I say that I'm pretty much just talking about my preference at home; here at school, even I would gladly admit that these Macs worked far better than the PCs. They were faster and less likely to freeze up like many of the school computers loved to do. And even then, I'm only really referring to the Macs in the TV Studio; _not_ the school's supply of Mac laptops, which usually had problems connecting to the school network. 'Alabastards', I liked to call them.

I detected movement out of the corner of my eye, turned just in time to see Theo duck back into the room. As my friend plopped back down in front of the computer next to me, I glanced up at the clock over the door.

2:23. _Two minutes_.

"Glad you decided to come back," I remarked, popping out one of my earbuds, returning my attention to the computer screen.

It was a long-running joke between the two of us, how Theo would excuse himself to go to the bathroom and then not return for over ten minutes. One time, last year, he'd excused himself from our 2nd Period Peace and Conflict class, and he hadn't come back for nearly half an hour. Turned out he'd actually fallen asleep on the toilet, the dumbshit…

"…fuck you," was all Theo said in reply to my gibe. I'd been giving him shit for his long bathroom breaks for two years now—we didn't really get into arguments about it, anymore. Theo reached into his pocket, pulled out his inhaler, took a puff. He nodded over to my screen. "What're you watching?"

"Jake and Amir," I replied. "You know, from CollegeHumor."

Theo peered at the screen, his mouth twitching in a smile when he recognized the video. "Oh God, the bathroom stall one… C'mon, take out the earphones, let me hear it."

I plucked my earphones out of the jack, draping them around my neck and plugging them back into my ipod, which I always kept in my sweatshirt pocket. The video now played from the Mac's speakers. Unfortunately, Amir had barely started to sneak over the divider wall into Jake's bathroom stall when the clock changed once again.

2:25. _Zero minutes_.

Though it was muffled by the TV Studio room's soundproofed door, which was always closed, I heard the bell ring from the hallway PA system, signaling the end of the school day. I closed out of youtube and shut the Mac down, getting up to my feet and grabbing my backpack. Theo and I ducked out of the room before the rest of the class mobbed up the door.

"Hold on a sec, I need my jacket," I stopped Theo from walking down the hallway without me while I paused to open my locker.

"Dude, why don't you just keep it in your sylladex?" Theo asked. "You realize you're one of the only ones who still even uses a locker?"

"You know I don't like using those things…" I muttered, spinning the combination and opening my locker. "They make my brain hurt."

"Oh, come on, _everything_ made by Skaianet is designed to make your brain hurt," Theo countered. "Doesn't make it any less useful. I mean, come on; being able to store shit on a freakin' _card?_How can you get any cooler than that?"

I shrugged, slipping into my jacket. I shrugged my backpack back on and shut my locker, falling into step alongside my friend. I had two different 8th Period classes, depending on what letter day it was, but they were both held in the TV Studio. This was good for me, because Room 137 was right near an exit on the side of the school that faced the lower parking lot, so I was usually able to hightail it out of here before the hallways became clogged with hundreds of students flocking to the doors.

"Hey, Cass," Theo's voice shook me out of my thoughts.

"_Hi, Theo._"

I looked up just in time to see Cass walk past us, on her way to the front lobby. The suddenness of her appearance left me at a loss for words, so all I ended up doing was grinning stupidly and giving a small wave. But it wasn't a total loss…she _did_ wave back, after all. That's not a total loss, right?

I could see Theo watching me, could see the silent laughter in his eyes. I'd given him shit for taking another of his legendary fifteen-minute dumps, but now he was reaping his revenge. "_Shut up,_" I grumbled.

The two of us stepped outside into the crisp April chill. The weather had been steadily warming up for the past couple weeks, but it was not exactly warm enough for me to say that it felt like spring. I measured my seasons by the clothes I wore—there was t-shirt season and jacket season, each separated by a sweatshirt season. Right now, it was still jacket season; it would not truly be spring for me until I no longer had to wear my jacket.

Theo and I quickly crossed the bus lane, ducking between two of those parked yellow douchebag-transport vehicles, and clambered down the concrete steps that ran down the hill to the lower lot, passing the tennis court along the way. The lower lot was divided into four strips, and I was parked in the one that was second-furthest away from the school. Sure, it was a bit of a longer walk…but the third strip was right across from the parking lot's exit. Because I got out of the school before most of my peers, I could afford to take the time to walk that extra distance.

The absolute worst was when I took too long to get out here—dozens of people park in the lower lot, but there is only one way in or out, so unless you get down to your car fast…you'll be stuck waiting for ten minutes to get out of your parking space, and then another fifteen to get out of the lot. But that was not going to happen today; Theo and I already had a good head start.

"Oh, and speaking of Skaianet, their new game just went into beta, today," Theo reminded me as we climbed into Little Blue, my ten-year-old Ford Focus, aptly named for its color. I frowned for a moment, not knowing what my friend was talking about, but then I remembered. It had been part of a birthday present, over a year ago; Theo, and our other friend Cruz—who went to Downingtown West, our district's other high school—had pre-ordered a copy of Skaianet's upcoming game for me. It was the latest phase of their evil plan to get me to play online PC games with them.

I preferred my xbox, personally, when it came to online gaming, but apparently this new game was supposed to be pretty mind-blowing. I've tried looking for info on the game over the web, but it was impossible to find anything concrete about it…which I'll admit I found kind of surprising, given the hype surrounding Skaianet these past few years. No matter…it would come as a surprise, then.

"I'll check the mail when I get home," I said, producing the car keys from my pants pocket and sliding them into the ignition, starting up the car's engine. I took off the e-brake and quickly put Little Blue into drive, pulling out of my parking spot and driving straight across the strip that linked all four parts of the parking lot, into the short entrance/exit lane.

"Well, they're mailing out today," Theo explained, buckling himself up as I turned out of the parking lot lane and onto the road. "You'll probably get it this weekend, or sometime Monday. Probably Monday. At least, I'm getting _mine_ Monday…"

I turned off the street that ran in front of the school, getting onto Route 113, which would eventually run past the development where Theo lived. It was just a ten minute drive through lightly-populated suburban sprawl to get there. Once I got past the first traffic light, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ipod, plugging it into the adapter that allowed it to play through the car's radio. Little Blue, unfortunately, had been made before manufacturers started installing ipod jacks. I had to glance down every few seconds to see the screen of my ipod as I scrolled through the artists.

Theo saw me doing this and cleared his throat somewhat loudly. "Dude, do you have to do that while you're driving?"

"I need my Hans," I replied. "Are you suggesting I go through the rest of this drive without my Hans?"

"What you need is your own goddamn car insurance…"

Finally, I found Hans Zimmer on my list of artists. Every Friday when I drove home from school, it was tradition for me to play _Run Free,_ from Hans Zimmer's soundtrack of that one animated movie with the stallion running around the Old West, until it eventually gets captured by the evil American Cavalry. The song played, I think, when this stallion broke free from his bonds, riding off into the sunset, or something along those lines.

And on Fridays, after the school day ended and I flew towards home down Route 113 at sixty miles per hour…that's kind of how I felt. If you haven't tried driving home from school with that song blasting from your radio, I would highly recommend it. But that's just me, and my odd musical tastes.

"So, now that you're reminding me of that game…" I paused for a second to adjust the radio's volume, "Would you mind telling me what it's about?"

"What it's about?"

"Yeah… Like, what kind of game is it? First-person shooter? Real-time strategy? Any naked women?"

"Uh, no… No, it's not that kind of game," Theo shook his head, popping an Altoid into his mouth. "You know the Sims?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded, tapping the brake as we approached another red light. It turned green before we got there, however, so I released the brake and punched the gas once again.

"Well, it's supposed to be kind of like that…only it's based on the real world," Theo tried to explain. When all he got in reply from me was a blank stare, he went on. "Almost like… Alright, when you play the Sims—not that I've ever played it—you create your own avatar, who lives in some made-up city in the game universe. But with this new game, you play as _yourself_…and you can connect with friends, who play as _them_selves… And you live in your own house, in your own town—like, Downingtown, Chester Springs, Exton; it'll all be in there. And you have the power to do pretty much anything you want with the game's environment."

"That's it?" I arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Sounds kinda dumb."

"It's not dumb, it's awesome!" my friend protested. "Besides, I'm not the one who found all this out. I'm just telling you what Cruz told me."

"Cruz?" my other eyebrow slid up to join its twin. "You're getting your info from Cruz? You're aware that he was probably high when he told you all that?"

"Well, half the time everything he says ends up coming true," Theo wasn't willing to give up, yet. "He's like a psychic; don't deny it."

"Yeah, and he's like a stoned retard for the other half."

Theo couldn't really argue with me on that point…but, to be honest, the only reason I'd said that was because I'd be damned if I ever let Theo have the last word in one of our arguments. Sure, Cruz probably indulged a little more than he should…but Theo had a point—sometimes, my friend from West _did_ seem like a psychic. And the way we'd first met had been kind of…well, it was pretty fucking weird. But that's a story for another time.

Theo lived in a neighborhood of townhouses just off Route 113. I drove past it on my way home, so I usually gave my friend a ride to his house, unless I had to stay after school for the theatre department. There were two entrances into his development—it was a big loop. I turned into the first one and drove down to the community center, at the farthest point of the loop, which was right near where Theo lived.

As my friend unbuckled himself and grabbed his backpack, I put Little Blue into park. "Oh, yeah, you coming to Cruz's place tomorrow? We're probably gonna go hang out at the Ruins."

"You guys going there to smoke?"

"What do you think?"

Theo opened the passenger door and climbed out onto the sidewalk. "Yeah, alright, I'll be there. Grandma'll probably think it's just another school day, anyway."

"I'll pick you up around two-ish."

"Aight. See you tomorrow."

"Later."

Theo closed the car door, and I pulled away from the curb, driving through the rest of the loop and returning to the main road. Soon after, _Run Free_ finished, so I had to quickly switch to something else before it repeated. I mentally ran through the list of possible candidates in my mind before finally settling on _Synchrotone,_ from the Black Hawk Down soundtrack. Yeah, it started off pretty slow, but once that violin kicked in around the 0:40 second mark…

"Violin, _fuck yeah!_" I howled, pounding on the steering wheel like a pair of bongos, in rhythm with the audial chocolate pouring out of Little Blue's speakers. There was only one more traffic light I had to turn at, but it was green, so my Hans was not interrupted.

Unfortunately, this particular track was over eight minutes long, and I made it back home about two-thirds of the way through. There's nothing that I hated more than stopping partway through an epic song, but there was nothing to be done. I killed Little Blue's engine and pulled the e-brake, grabbing my backpack and piling out.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I could smell rain. It had been gray for the past couple weeks, with patches of rain. New York had been getting completely flooded since the beginning of the month—all we were getting was the fringe of those stubborn storm cells. But today it looked like the rain just might return. It didn't really matter—we were going to hang out tomorrow, rain or shine. I actually _like_ the rain, so it's pretty much a win/win.

I headed back outside, pausing to shut the garage door. I lived pretty much at the very edge of the school district. My one neighbor, two houses down, had his mailbox in a different township. The kids who lived in the neighborhood on the other side of the street, beyond that house, went to a different school district—that was how close to the edge of Downingtown School District I was. My house was on a main road, so it was not even part of a real neighborhood—I had neighbors on either side, and across the street, but I rarely ever saw them. I might as well have lived alone deep in the woods. Well, _mostly_ alone…

I headed up the front walk that ran from the top of the driveway in front of the house, stepped up onto the front porch. I yawned, opening the front door and heading into the front hall, still quietly humming Hans Zimmer under my breath. I closed the door behind me and shrugged off my backpack, dumping it—along with my jacket and sweatshirt—in the living room, next to the sofa.

As I dropped my backpack, I spotted movement from the corner of my eye. I looked up towards the dining room—which was separated from the living room by the sofa, rather than an actual wall—just in time to see a shadowy figure stepping through the door that led to the kitchen. I had only a moment to spot the glint of steel in the figure's hand before my reflexes kicked in and I threw myself to the ground.

Three small, shiny objects sliced through the air where I had been standing just a millisecond ago, thudding into the wall next to the fireplace. I swore under my breath, scrambling back to my feet—I _hated_ the throwing stars.

I spread out my right hand and closed my eyes for a moment, mentally accessing my strife specibus. I then clenched my hand into a fist, my fingers curling around the familiar feeling of a hunting knife handle. The shadowy figure crossed the length of the living/dining room in two large, lightning-quick steps.

The figure thrust its own knife forward, straight towards my abdomen, but I sidestepped the blow. The shadowy figure was already spinning around and coming at me once more, and my first instinct was to dodge again, but I stopped myself.

_No more dodging. Hans Zimmer would not score this knife fight if all I do is _dodge_._

I blocked the shadowy figure's next blow and stepped in close, thrusting my own blade towards the figure's torso, but suddenly it was no longer there. The figure was spinning around me, turning back to face me from behind, its knife slashing towards my neck. I ducked, actually feeling the blade brush against the very top of my hair. I drove my elbow into the figure's stomach, but missed yet again as it stepped back. We traded blows for at least a full minute, though I think saying we were 'trading blows' is kind of inaccurate. In reality, it was mostly me trying to avoid getting diced while trying to land a hit every once in a while. To my defense, though, most others would not have lasted two seconds.

Finally, I managed to grab the wrist of the figure's knife hand, stopping its latest thrust. I struck forward with my own knife, but the figure batted my arm away. When I tried again, the figure grabbed _my_ wrist…resulting in a battle of brute strength for several tedious seconds. Before I could do anything to try to break the figure's hold on my wrist, the figure suddenly threw both of its arms out wide, throwing me forward off-balance. The shadowy figure than planted a kick right to my stomach, sending me flying back into the wall, not far from where the three shurikans had embedded themselves next to the fireplace.

I gasped for breath—the wind had been knocked out of me—and jumped back to my feet, adjusting my grip on my hunting knife. I stepped forward once again, aiming my next cut towards the figure's shoulder…only to have the shadowy figure bat my strike away with its free arm. Next thing I knew, the figure's knife was slashing across my chest. White-hot pain lanced through my torso, and my breath caught in my throat.

In a flash, the shadowy figure grabbed the back of my head with its free hand and pressed its blade to my throat. The figure held me there for a few seconds, then released me, letting me sag against the armrest of the sofa, clutching at my chest. My shirt had been utterly ruined—slashed nearly in half—and an angry red line had been drawn diagonally across my upper torso. There were many other, similar lines crisscrossing my chest, back, and stomach—some of them still a dull pink, but most of them had turned white with time.

I was mostly annoyed at the loss of my t-shirt. It had been a green shirt with a four-leaf clover on it, which I'd bought one time during a vacation to the beach. It was one of my favorites.

The shadowy figure sheathed its knife and headed back to the doorway leading to the kitchen, flicking on the lights, illuminating the living/dining room space. No longer cloaked by shadows, the figure was revealed to be a young woman in her mid-twenties—black hair, hazel eyes, light freckles; dressed entirely in dark blue. She reached up and pulled the needles from her hair, allowing it to fall to her shoulders—she never entered strife with her hair down. And her eyes weren't really hazel, but that was just her favorite shade of contacts that she wore. No, we shared our eye color, and it was...well, it was a pretty weird eye color.

"Did you really have to ruin my shirt, this time?" I asked her, fiddling mournfully with the giant tear in the shirt's fabric. I was starting to bleed, now—the blood was running into the green fabric, staining it an ugly brown hue. I had to get upstairs to my bathroom and patch myself up before I ruined my _jeans,_ too. "I liked this shirt…"

The young woman glanced at me for a moment, looking at the laceration she had put across my chest, and gave a small shrug. She dug into one of her pockets and pulled out a small object, tossing it to me before stepping into the kitchen and vanishing down the hallway.

I caught the object, opened my palm, inspected it. It was a band-aid.

And not the large kind.

"_Love you too, Sis…_" I grumbled.


	2. I Chapter 2: Cannabis and Lotuses

Chapter Two: Cannabis and Lotuses

Saturday.

This was easily my favorite day of the week. Sure, Friday nights could be pretty fun, as well…but the rest of Friday? Friday morning? Friday afternoon? Not so much fun. Saturdays were the best days because every part of them had the potential to be enjoyable.

My dreams were unpredictable. A lot of people I talk to say that they usually forget their dreams within minutes of waking up…but I was always able to remember mine. And the strange thing is that I only have two kinds of dreams. Sometimes I dream of a radiant city of gold, and other times… Well, I don't talk about _those_ dreams.

I'd woken up around ten or so minutes ago, actually. I've just been lying here with my eyes closed, waiting to work up enough willpower to get out of bed. It actually wasn't until I heard a quiet ringing noise from my computer that I finally decided to wake up completely. The noise had been two high notes played in quick succession, an alert that someone was trying to message me.

I'd forgotten to log out of PalHassle, again. I did that a lot, resulting in people trying to message me while I was still asleep. Whoever was trying to contact me now was lucky that I had been awake at the time.

I glanced over at my alarm clock, checking the time. It was 10:13. Not too early, not too late.

Yawning one last time, I trudged over to my dresser and quickly changed out of my pajama pants, slipping into a fresh pair of jeans and another shirt before finally heading to the computer. I sat down in the rolley-chair and jiggled the mouse, bringing the computer screen back to life. Sure enough, my minimized PalHassle tab was flashing, indicating new messages.

It turned out that someone had tried to contact me overnight, as well. I quickly glanced at those messages and gave a weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. They were from the Bitch. I would check them out later—in the meantime, I had to answer whoever was messaging me right now…

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><p><em>-gentlemanConsigliere began hassling anomalousThespian at 09:55-<em>

GC: hey dude  
>GC: dude, u there<br>GC: helloooo  
>GC: ur sleepin right now, rnt u<br>GC: goddamnit  
>GC: stop leavin ur fuckin account logged in every time u go 2 bed<br>AT: alright, Gino, i'm on. what is it?  
>GC: dude, u left ur account logged in again<br>AT: thank you, I picked up on that. there something you wanted?  
>GC: ur comin 2 cruz's today, right<br>AT: yes.  
>GC: ok, good<br>GC: cruz wants u 2 bring johnny reb, cuz he says ur tobacco tastes awesome  
>AT: what, why he couldn't tell me that himself?<br>GC: his fuckin internet connection, thats y  
>GC: but yeah, thats it. not gonna bother stayin on here when im just gonna c u in a few hours<br>AT: fair enough.  
>GC: later bro<br>AT: bye.

_-gentlemanConsigliere is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>I closed out of my chat window with Gino with some measure of relief—Gino Caiazzo and I did have a somewhat strained relationship, but the reason I disliked chatting with him was because he used yellow text. I mean, come on… If you have to squint to read what you're typing, you should probably use a different color.<p>

I then opened up the cyan-texted messages from the Bitch, lazily scrolling through them. "_Someone was drunk, last night_…" I muttered. It was amazing how she was even able to put these nigh unintelligible thoughts together in written form. Of course, if her drunken ramblings weren't at least a little bit amusing, I would not be reading them to begin with.

The Bitch rambled on about everything; ranging from what she was currently wearing, to how much she'd had to drink at whatever party she had been at last night. Then she started making fun of my eye color, which was a bit of a sore subject with me. "Alright, that's enough of that…"

I closed all the way out of PalHassle, staring at my desktop for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. I decided to open up the internet. I used to use Internet Explorer, and I was planning on moving on to Firefox, but I ended up downloading Hyperion instead. And so far, I was not regretting my decision—Hyperion was fast, it did not get viruses, and it never crashed. Theo had frowned upon that—he'd wanted me to get the Typheus browser, like him, but I didn't really like its icon.

I went through the usual routine—checked my facebook, then my gmail, then I checked mspaintadventures for updates on the Midnight Crew...but there was nothing new in any of those areas. Facebook was usually quiet for me, and most of the emails I got were a result of being the stage manager of my high school's spring musical—now that it was done, my gmail was like a ghost town. A virtual, google-owned ghost town. And don't even get me started on mspaintadventures…

In the interest of killing time, I went to sidereel-dot-com and started watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Theo had recommended the show to me, saying that it was basically a trashier version of Arrested Development, which I had to agree with. And after watching the first three seasons, I actually found myself enjoying it _more_ than Arrested Development—the Gang was every bit as depraved as the Bluths, only they did not even have the small moments of kindness occasionally shown by the characters of AD.

And IASIP had the Dayman song; nothing could beat that. That was the last episode I watched before getting off the computer—the one where Charlie writes _The Nightman Cometh_.

"_Champion of the sun…you're a master of karate and friendship for everyone_…" I hummed along with the last song, drumming my fingers lightly on the edge of my desk. Once the episode was over, I closed out of everything. This time, I made sure I logged out of PalHassle—no one would try to have a conversation with an empty computer until I got back on Monday and left it logged in again.

I opened my drawer and pulled out Johnny Reb; a relatively small, wooden pipe—with a plastic stem, of course—that Cruz had bought me as a Christmas gift from a head shop in Philly. South Street, to be precise. The wood was colored a deep red around the bowl, but it gradually grew lighter the closer it got to the stem, where it was a dark orange. I pulled out my wallet, which contained my sylladex, and captchalogued the pipe, storing it onto one of the brown-colored cards and slipping it back into the wallet.

I peeked out the window, getting a feel for the weather. It was a little bit warmer today than it had been yesterday, but not enough to break me free from Jacket Season. It also appeared to be raining lightly, but that posed me no problem. My jacket took a long time to get wet.

I yawned one last time.

Slipping my wallet, cellphone, and ipod into my jeans pockets, I opened my bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. I went downstairs and put on a windbreaker instead of my usual jacket—that would take care of the rain.

My Sis wasn't home, right now. She was down in Washington DC for the weekend—another job interview. She was an engineer, looking for work with the many companies operating out of the large cities. She had job interviews in DC, Boston, and Baltimore.

I remember when I'd learned that she had a normal job for a living—I'd always assumed she made a living killing gangsters with their own entrails. My relationship with her, after all, comprised heavily of strife with sharp objects—I could still feel the scar from our last scuffle. I'd been a kid, back in those days—thoughts like those made more sense to the mind of a child than they would to that of a young adult.

As I grabbed the car keys from the dining room table, I thought I saw someone standing in the front hall. Not my Sis, obviously…but in the quick glance I got of this phantom, there was something maddeningly familiar about it. But then I blinked, and the figure was gone. I walked into the front hall, looking around for signs of the phantom, but I found none. I was alone.

"_Weird_..."

I headed outside to the garage, locking the front door behind me. Little Blue was waiting for me, ready to take me out to the other side of Downingtown, where Cruz lived. I plugged my ipod into the car's adapter. Though my first thought was which of Hans Zimmer's scores I should play for the trip, I eventually settled on Mumford and Sons and set it to random, content to listen to whatever came on first.

When _Thistle and Weeds_ started playing, however, I gave a discontenting grunt and skipped to the next track. I immediately recognized the opening piano chords of _Dust Bowl Dance_. "That's better…" I murmured, starting up the engine and easing down the driveway, closing the garage door with the remote clickey-thing clamped to the doohickey that I could put down to shield my eyes from the sun—yes, I'm just now realizing how I don't actually know the names of these objects that I use almost every day.

About two Mumford songs later, I was pulling into Theo's neighborhood. He was waiting for me with his backpack, down at the community center. I pulled to a stop and unlocked the doors, letting my friend climb into the passenger seat. "Hey, White Lightning," he flashed me a grin as he buckled himself up.

"Hey, Black Thunder," I finished our customary greeting, pulling away from the community center and getting back onto Route 113. "You seem in good spirits."

"Yeah, man, I'm just excited for tonight. I've been thinking…and I've decided I want to join you guys, now," Theo said. "I mean, I probably won't do a lot…but, you know… I'll try it. And I brought a few surprises," he jostled his bag.

I gave my friend a sidelong glance. "You being serious?"

"Yeah."

It was my turn to smile, now. "Dude… Dude, I just want to _hug_ you right now."

"Not while you're driving, please."

We continued driving down Route 113. It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach the actual town of Downingtown. Well, technically it was a _borough,_ not a town…but I always called it a town. I mean, they should have named the fucking place Downingborough if it really made so much of a difference…

But even when we reached the town, we were only about two-thirds of the way to Cruz's. The main road that ran through town was Lincoln Highway—Route 30, a main artery that ran west all the way to Lancaster—but the speed limit was twenty-five in some places, and the route was littered with traffic lights. No, instead of grinding through the town, I took the Route 30 Bypass. It was basically a shortcut, a highway that cut around all of the towns that Route 30 passed through. There were no twenty-five-mph zones or traffic lights here.

Cruz lived deep in the woods, several miles west of Downingtown. He said he lived with his parents…but in all the times I've been over to his house, I've never once seen his parents. He could very well live alone, for all I know…of course, someone had to be paying for his house, and everything…but if it turned out that Cruz lived completely alone, I would not be the least bit surprised.

I waited for my exit to come up and took it, getting off the bypass. Before long, we were driving down the back roads, completely swallowed up by the woods. Cruz's house was located near the Mountain, on top of a small hill. The Mountain was not an actual mountain, to be honest—it was certainly no Appalachian, Rocky, or Himalaya, but it was much taller than all the hills surrounding it. From its summit, it was possible to see for miles around.

So maybe it wasn't a mountain, but that wasn't going to stop us from _calling_ it one.

When I turned onto the street leading up to Cruz's house, I found my gaze constantly drifting down and over to Theo's backpack. "You gonna tell me what those surprises are?"

"No sir," Theo shook his head, giving his bag a reassuring pat. "You'll thank me later."

I nearly blew past Cruz's driveway—something that always happened every time I went to his house. Turning onto the gravel path and driving up the hillside, Cruz's house finally came into view. It was a small house—about the same size as mine—that was three stories in height. There was a satellite dish mounted on the roof, along with a stone chimney. Once we reached the top of the hill, we could see the lake on the other side, as well as the Mountain, which was right on the lake's opposite shore.

There were three cars already parked in the end of the driveway, in front of Cruz's house. One of them was an old, blue van—Cruz's own car. The second car I knew belonged to Gino, but I did not recognize the third one. I knew of a couple people who Cruz would have invited, but I would not find the answers until I made it inside.

Theo grabbed his bag, and we headed up to the front door. I didn't bother knocking; the door was unlocked, so I pushed it open and let myself in. The smell of the interior of Cruz's house hit us like a freight train. It was not a bad smell, don't get me wrong, but it was a powerful smell. Powerful…and distinct.

There was the sound of footsteps from the other side of the house, and my friend Cruz emerged into the front hall. He was a bit taller than me; dark hair almost at shoulder length, darker skin—not dark like Theo's, but more of a tan color. We'd used to go to the same middle school together, but then he had moved to the other side of the school district, which resulted in his going to Downingtown West, not East, for high school.

He smiled from ear to ear, pulling me into a quick embrace before doing the same with Theo. "Dude! I haven't seen you guys in over a month!" he asked, stepped behind us to close the door. "How're you guys doing?"

"Tolerable," I replied.

"We're doin' good, man," Theo gave a more substantial answer, flashing me an annoyed look. "Feels good to be hangin' out again, you know?"

"Trust me, bro, _I know,_" Cruz chuckled. "We need to have more of these togetherness...together times, you know?"

"You're high right now, aren't you," I remarked. I couldn't get a good look at my friend's eyes in the dim front hall, but he sounded somewhat incoherent.

"_Naw,_" Cruz shook his head—it was a pre-programmed response, automatically given to the many people who have asked Cruz over the years if he was under the influence of a certain substance from the cannabis plant. Then Cruz seemed to remember who he was talking to, and his smile turned into a sheepish grin. "Well…okay, maybe a _little_…"

"Alright, whatever," I shrugged—I wasn't exactly shocked. "Long as you didn't finish it all off, which I know would be impossible even for you. But anyway…guess who wants to join us, tonight?"

Cruz glanced over at Theo, beaming even more than he was before—I was afraid he was going to break his face, at this point. "Dude…for real? You're being serious?"

"Yeah, man," Theo nodded. I could tell that he was forcing himself to stop from fidgeting, which he normally always did when he was nervous. "Yeah, I figured… Well, it's our senior year, and soon we'll all be going to college, and…"

"Dude, you don't need to say anymore," Cruz clapped Theo on the shoulders, nudging him out of the front hall and into the kitchen. "The others are in the den, bro. Go on up!"

When I moved to follow Theo, Cruz raised his eyebrows at me—he'd never quite mastered the art of raising only one. "He's really being serious?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"He's really being serious. For real."

Cruz let out another series of giggles as he started heading for the kitchen. "Our little Theo is growing up, dude! I kinda feel like we're stealing a child's innocence, you know? Like...like we're having him play Call of Duty 4, but we're finally explaining to him that it's not ketchup that's coming out of those people he's shooting."

"Yeah, Cruz, exactly like that."

I heard the sound of bubbling coming from the den. I exited the front hall behind Cruz, through the kitchen, and into the den. There were two couches in the den, along with another table, a TV, and a desktop computer. Sitting in front of the TV was Gino and…

"Gwen?" my eyebrows shot up in surprise when I saw her. Gwen Twymann went to Downingtown West. I knew her because we both did shows together in the same community theatre over the summer. Unlike me, however, her skills were not limited to the stage—she happened to be a math whiz…a math whiz who liked to party.

I then stepped forward and saw that she was in the process of passing Mary J. Magdalene—Cruz's bong—over to Gino. "Oh, goddamnit, you guys!" I scowled, shrugging off my jacket and draping it across one of the chairs. "I wasn't _that_ late…"

"It's just some mids," Gwen assured us, smoke billowing from her mouth as she spoke. "Ain't nothin' but an appetizer. C'mon, guys, sit!"

Theo, Cruz, and I all sat down, forming a circle of five with Gwen and Gino. Once Gino was finished, he passed Mary J. Magdalene to Cruz, who then passed it over to me. "You guys can finish this one off," he said to Theo and me.

I took the bong and checked to see if the bowl was cherried, but it wasn't. "_Fuego,_" I requested.

"Oh, right," Gino fumbled through the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out the lighter we were using. It was one of those cheap Bic lighters that you could pick up in any self-respecting drugstore, but Cruz had removed that annoying metal safety band that obstructed the flint, so it was much easier to light. Gino tossed the lighter over to me.

I caught the lighter and used it to light the mids—which is the name people used for mid-grade marijuana—that had been packed into the bowl, breathing in from the top of the contraption. This caused the water in the bong to burble as the smoke from the bowl was drawn into the main chamber. And when the time was right, I withdrew the stem, inhaling the smoke that had accumulated. There had been a little bit more than I'd been expecting, causing my eyes to water and giving me an almost irresistible urge to cough.

I did not cough, though. I've been doing this for a long time, now—ever since I met Cruz, actually—and I had better control over my lungs. After holding it in for fifteen or so seconds, I tilted my head back, formed my mouth into an 'O', and puffed out a magnificent, perfectly round smoke ring.

…alright, that was a complete lie—I _tried_ to exhale in smoke rings, but I failed miserably. I'd never gotten the hang of it, though I'd always wanted to. I mean, there's just something so classy about smoke rings—Gandalf and Bilbo did them in Lord of the Rings; need I say more? Or, at least Bilbo did. Gandalf blew smoke _ships__,_ which were slightly more impossible.

"_Man,_ oh man…" I shook my head several times, wiping my eyes. "Been a while since I've had Mary…"

"Potent little bitch, ain't she?" Gino remarked.

"Don't be hating on my Mary, bro!" Cruz playfully punched Gino on the arm. "She's very sensitive."

I was starting to feel the buzz around my temples and the back of my head. I passed Mary over to Theo, wanting to quickly explain how it worked before I left the threshold of coherent thought. "Alright…alright, Theo, uh… Here, take the bong, make sure you have a good grip…"

Theo did as I told him, grabbing and holding Mary firmly around her base. "So, do I just light it and breathe in? What do I do, here?"

"Gimme a sec…" I gestured for Theo to turn towards me. Once he was facing me, I tapped the stem of the bong. "This piece here? This is the stem; the bowl at the end is where you pack whatever it is you are smoking. You put your mouth up top here…" I touched the very top of the bong, the open top of the tube that made up the main chamber. "…and you light the bowl, inhaling as you…as you do so…"

"What is it?" I heard Theo ask me.

I looked up at him. "Hm?"

"You were laughing at something."

"I…uh…" I suddenly realized that I _was_ laughing. I hadn't found anything funny, or anything; I was just…_laughing_. For someone who smiled only about four or five times a day, it was a wonderful,_wonderful_ sensation. But I reeled myself back in and focused on Theo. "Alright, where was I…? Right, right; you light the bowl and inhale. This'll cause the water to bubble. What's happening is you're drawing smoke down the stem and up through the water—the water cools the smoke, which is why bong hits aren't as harsh as the hits you'll get from a bowl. Now, uh…once the smoke is drawn through the water, it accumulates in the chamber—the longer you inhale, the more smoke you get. Once you have enough smoke, you pull the stem out and keep inhaling, which will send all of that smoke into your lungs."

"_Ah,_" Theo nodded, but I wasn't really sure how much of it he'd actually understood. "Will it, uh…will it hurt?"

"If you really rip it, yeah, it might hurt…but don't worry about that," I reassured my friend. "I'll take out the stem for you. All you have to do is inhale when I tell you, and don't stop until after I pull out the stem."

"Trust me, bro; you don't know what to expect because you've never done this before. A giant hit from Mary will knock you off your feet," Cruz added.

"Alright…" Theo took a deep breath, holding Mary up. "Alright, I'm ready."

"Put your mouth on the hole—_shut the fuck up,_" I snapped at Gino before he could crack a 'that's what she said'. Theo did as he was told, giving me a thumbs-up. I grabbed the lighter and held it down over the bowl. "Alright, Theo, inhale now," I instructed my friend.

Theo started breathing in. The resulting suction pulled the wavering flame down into the bowl, lighting the mids. I put out the lighter and kept a close eye on the smoke chamber, watching the hazy smoke build up from the bubbling water. When I felt Theo was at a suitable level, I pulled out the stem, and Theo sucked up all of the smoke in the chamber.

Almost immediately, my friend's chest heaved. He was on the very brink of coughing, but he was managing to keep his mouth closed. Gwen put her hand on his back reassuringly as he struggled. "You got this, baby! You got this!"

After a couple seconds, Theo could stand it no longer. Smoke billowed out of his mouth as he started coughing like there was no tomorrow.

Cruz, Gino, and I were whooping and cheering him on. We were laughing our asses off; I know most observers would probably consider it a rude thing to do, but it really wasn't. We had all gone through the exact same thing when we'd taken _our_ first bong hits—it was all in good fun.

"Aw, _shit,_" Theo rasped when he was finally able to talk. His voice sounded like someone had run sandpaper down his throat. And he could not talk for long before succumbing once more to his cough. "Shit, I don't think I was ready for that…"

"You were as ready as you were ever gonna get, bro," Cruz grinned. "It happens to the best of us."

I took back Mary and, with one last, big hit, finished off the mids remaining in the bowl. This hit had been even bigger than my last one, and _this_ one hurt. I gave a small cough, letting a squib of smoke escape, but I was able to keep the rest of it contained. I exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling—it was very impolite to blow it into other people's faces. It took me several additional, smaller breaths to completely purge my lungs.

I found myself smiling widely—again, for no real reason. "Oh, here we go… I got the fish-eye," I giggled.

"The what?" Gino asked.

"Fish-eye, I got the…you know, the fish-eye!" Eventually I reached a point where my vision, my depth perception became somewhat distorted, where it almost looked like I was seeing the world through a fish-eye lens. I called it the 'fish-eye', but we were always kind of incoherent by the time we reached that point, so the others usually ended up just laughing at me.

"No, I _don't_ know," Gino was chuckling. "I don't speak Retard."

"C'mon, bro, no need for insults," Cruz held up his hands before I could respond in kind. "Be chill."

We all turned our attention to Theo, who had been sitting silently throughout the conversation. "Hey, Theo, buddy…how ya feelin'?" Gino reached across the circle, nudging our friend gently.

Theo gave a shrug. "I don't think I'm really feeling anything…" he said.

"Give it a few minutes," Cruz suggested. He slowly got up to his feet, gesturing for the rest of us to do the same. "C'mon, guys, let's start heading over to the Ruins."

"Sounds good," Gwen picked herself up, hauling Gino up alongside her.

We put our jackets back on and gathered our things. Gino watched as Theo slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Whatcha got in the pack, man?"

"You'll see," Theo patted his backpack. "Trust me, you'll see."

Cruz led the way out the back door, not bothering to lock it behind us. As we stepped outside, Theo faltered, placing a hand on the wooden railing, holding his forehead with the other. "Okay… Okay, I, uh…yeah."

"That's just the berg of the ice…of the iceberg, man," Gino was saying to Theo.

"Who speaks Retard, now?" I interjected, seeing and grasping my opportunity for petty revenge.

We headed out into the rainy afternoon, leaving Cruz's house behind as we started hiking down the hillside facing the lake. The Mountain remained in the near distance, a constant landmark that we could use as a reference point. The walk down to the shore of the lake seemed to take forever, even though I knew we were moving downhill only for a few minutes.

The surface of the lake was agitated by the impact of thousands upon thousands of raindrops, but was otherwise still—there was no wind, today. The Ruins lay in the center of the lake—a tall, pyramid-like structure made of stone, weathered and discolored with time, with stairs carved into the front, leading up to an open entrance into the Ruins' interior. And at the very top of the Ruins was a statue of a giant frog, squatting solemnly. If a frog could look solemn…

There were more ruins in the lake, as well. There were eight stone towers surrounding the frog temple—columns rising out of the water, topped by stone spheres. The spheres were hollow—I've been in a few of them, before—but they were completely empty. The only things of note in those towers were the odd symbols that were carved into their floors. There was something strange about those symbols...when I saw some of them, I would experience what could best be described as flashbacks...only they showed me things that I have never seen before in my life.

There was another tower right next to the frog temple, just to the stone frog statue's right, and one last tower on the lakeshore, which was what we were heading towards. These last two towers, which weren't part of the ring of eight, each had a smaller turret attached to them—almost like how the moon would be attached to the Earth in a planetary model.

We made our way towards the outer tower. One of the first things Cruz had done after moving into his house had been to explore the Ruins. He had managed to climb up to the top of the outer tower and secure a rope ladder to the tier upon which the stone sphere sat. Up this ladder we climbed, taking our sweet time. I was the last one up, and once I reached the top Cruz led everyone into the sphere.

There was no symbol in this tower—only the ring of eight towers had them. But this tower was not empty—Cruz had left a fenestrated plane on the floor, with the screen removed. Without the screen, the plane looked like a mere empty metal frame. But when Cruz turned it on, an electrical hum reverberated through the plane, and the part where the screen was supposed to be turned pitch black.

"Ladies first," Cruz stepped aside for Gwen.

She stepped up to the fenestrated plane and took a deep breath. "I hate these things…" With that, she crossed her arms over her chest and jumped straight down into the open fenestrated wall, vanishing into the darkness. Gino and Theo both followed her. Now it was my turn.

I stepped up next to the humming wall, taking small, careful steps, compensating for my messed up depth perception.

"Don't lose any body parts in there," Cruz cautioned me.

"I've always loved how reassuring you can be," I said to my friend, but it was difficult to maintain the sarcasm without giggling halfway through. I followed my friends' examples and crossed my arms, jumping down into the void in the fenestrated plane. My stomach fluttered as the world was plunged into darkness.

I was falling through a dark void for about two seconds before emerging through the other side. I found myself climbing out of an identical fenestrated wall. This one was located inside the inner tower, the one adjacent to the frog temple. This tower was connected to the frog temple by a small stone bridge—I have no idea how Cruz had managed to lug a fenestrated wall across the lake, but he'd done it somehow. In any case, having these linked walls meant that we did not have to worry about swimming, or using a boat, or anything along those lines. It was a nice little shortcut.

Cruz finally fell headfirst out of the wall, spreading his legs so that they landed on either side of the fenestrated plane when gravity took hold and pulled him back down. He reached down to the power box and turned the wall off—the power switches to both walls were connected as well; turning one wall off would turn the other off, too.

The five of us filed out of the tower and crossed the stone bridge onto the tier which the Ruins' entrance was on. We moved around to the front of the Ruins, to the top of the stairs, and headed inside. The interior of the Ruins was a dimly lit room with several large fenestrated planes mounted on the walls. But the really strange part was what was in the centre of the room.

There was a large stone platform with a…er… Well, it had a giant flower sitting on top of it, crazy as that may sound. No, that's not the weed talking—I've been in the Ruins sober, before, seen the giant purple lotus with my own eyes…there's this panel under it with a number that's always counting down, like a timer. I always forgot how much time was left on it, but I did know that it was supposed to open sometime this month.

I pulled out my wallet and retrieved Johnny Reb from my sylladex, as well as one of my bags of pipe tobacco, my metal pipe tamp, and a box of matches. I got to work, starting the three-part process of packing a bowl of tobacco.

"What're you puttin' in there?" Gwen asked.

"Créme brulee," I replied. "We're getting some high-end dessert, tonight." I finished packing my tobacco at the same time Cruz finished repacking his bong. We reformed the circle, and the bong started making its circuit once again, followed by my pipe. Good-ass weed and good-ass tobacco; what more could a person need? Other than food, water, air, and about a zillion other things?

None of us really said anything to each other, apart from incoherent giggling and a few deeply thoughtful admonishments that, had I heard them while sober, probably would have sounded pretty dumb. At one point, I think Theo walked over to the entrance of the temple interior, which had a good view of the lake and Mountain, and went into a ten-minute-long, in-depth rant about why there was so much water just lying around on the ground, not doing anything. He probably would have kept on going if the rain had not driven him back inside.

Eventually, though, the effects of the weed from earlier wore off. Once this happened, Cruz began to pack his bong a third time. He also finished off the last of the tobacco that I'd packed. "Alright, that'll do it…" Cruz tapped out the ash in the tobacco pipe, handing it back over to me. "Give Johnny Rebel my regards."

I captchalogued the pipe, stowing it safely away in my sylladex. I would clean it once I got home. In the meantime, I sat back and relaxed.

After chilling out for a few minutes, Theo grabbed his backpack and opened it. He pulled out a six-pack of…well, my first thought was beer, but I saw that the brown bottles did not contain alcohol. "What is that?" I asked.

"Sarsaparilla, man," Theo grinned. "It's, uh…it's like root beer, only it's not."

"Good enough for me," Gino shrugged, taking one of the bottles.

Theo handed the other bottles to the rest of us, putting the extra one back into his backpack. He then pulled out a container of mint-flavored oreos, a box of Lucky Charms, and a bag of flavor-blasted goldfish.

Gino stared openmouthed at the goldfish. Theo saw this and passed the goldfish over to him. Gino tore open the bag and shoved a small handful of the flavor-blasted cheddar fish into his mouth, his eyes closing with bliss as he chewed. "I think I just came…" he mumbled, his words barely intelligible with the food in his mouth.

"Hey, Cruz," Gwen, who was standing over near the giant purple lotus, called out to our benevolent host. "You, uh…you realize the timer on this thing has only a few hours left?"

"Yeah," Cruz gave a single nod.

"What happens when it hits zero?"

"Well…" Cruz stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "It's a closed lotus, Gwen. When the timer hits zero, I imagine it will open. And there may be something for _you_ inside," he nodded to Gino.

"For me?" Gino arched an eyebrow. "That thing has been closed for as long as I can remember—how could there be anything for me in there?"

Cruz gave a quiet chuckle. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. So, Gwen…you order Skaianet's new game?"

"Yeah, yeah it's comin' in the mail tomorrow morning," she replied.

"What about you, Gino?"

"Me? You kiddin'?" Gino paused from devouring the goldfish long enough to answer Cruz. "Why the hell d'you think I'd waste my time playing some dumb Sims game on the computer? No, I didn't order it, and I'm not gonna play it."

Cruz's grin did not falter. "We'll see," he said.

"No. _No,_" Gino raised a finger, setting the goldfish down. "Don't you play your fake, psychic bullshit with me. I don't even have the game—I wouldn't be able to play it even if I wanted to. It'll be months before it goes into full release. It ain't happenin'."

Cruz leaned forward, his grin widening enough to show teeth. "_We'll see._" He then leaned back and helped himself to a small handful of Lucky Charms.

We spent the next few hours just chilling. We had a few conversations, but we mostly just enjoyed our munchies and listened to the sound of the rain hitting the temple from outside. By the time Cruz started speaking again, it was dark outside, not long past midnight. By then, we were starting to come down, and it was a little easier to hold a real conversation.

"So, I had another interesting dream, last week."

"You still dreaming about that golden city?" Gwen asked him.

"Oh, it's the only thing I dream about," Cruz explained. "And, at this point, I can talk about some of these dreams without causing any problems. I'm not alone in my dreams, you see—this golden city is inhabited by these cool, white alien-thingies. But you guys are there, too… Well, actually just _you,_" he nodded to me. "You, and my friend Tami…and another person you know. I mean, I _wish_all of you were in my dreams, but…eh, what can you do?" he shrugged. "But anyway, sometimes I have very special dreams…dreams where I see things."

"Is that so?" Gino decided to humor his friend, taking an active role in the conversation. "What kinds of things, pray tell?"

"Trippy shit like you wouldn't believe, bro," Cruz chuckled. "I saw you, Theo, flying through the air towards the Mountain, like you were controlling the wind."

"I was flying?" Theo wasn't impressed. "What, do I have magical wings in your dreams?"

"No, you weren't the one who had wings," Cruz shook his head. "I saw the Mountain erupting with lava, I saw a couple of us in the golden city's throne room, I saw a white castle…but the weirdest part of the whole thing was _you,_ dude," he nodded to me.

"Me?" I pointed to myself.

"Yeah you," Cruz nodded. "I saw you in a cloud…and you were an angel."

I stared at Cruz for a few seconds, blank-faced and silent, before breaking down into a messy fit of laughter. I'm talking _real,_ tears-streaming-from-the-eyes laughter. I've heard Cruz say some pretty whacked-out things before, but this…this took the cake. Fuck, it took the entire _bakery_. And the THC currently in my system made it ten times funnier.

The others were busting their own guts, too. "Cruz, baby, I think you had a little too much," Gwen had to take several deep breaths before she could talk.

"Look, I _know_ all that shit was ridiculous—I'm just tellin' you what I saw," Cruz shrugged. He was silent for another few moments, before pursing his lips and taking another sip of his sarsaparilla. "Then again, that might have been the night I dropped acid with Tami…"

"There's a story I'd like to hear," I murmured.

"Another time," Cruz said, standing up and glancing over at the lotus. "I think we're about to be interrupted…right about…_now_."

I barely had time to follow Cruz's gaze before a bright, white light started to shine from the inside of the lotus. Line of light appeared as the petals started to separate from each other.

"Holy shit, it's actually opening…" I could scarcely believe it. For as long as we've been coming here, the lotus had always been this weird, mystery thing that we'd accepted we would never unravel. There were many things about our lives that were like that—for example, the first time I'd met Cruz had been in a dream, in a radiant city of gold much like the one Cruz had described. I'd accepted long ago that these mysteries were simply a part of my life, and I would never unravel them until it was the right time.

Now seemed to be the right time for the mystery of the lotus. One by one, the petals fell away, and a glowing orb of white light rose into the air from the pedestal. It hovered there, shimmering and pulsing for several seconds, before it vanished, revealing two small objects that had materialized inside of the open flower.

I looked closely at the two objects and quickly recognized them as computer game disks. They had the Skaianet logo on them.

Cruz reached down and picked up the disks, inspecting them for a moment. "Looks like you'll be able to play Sburb, after all, _amigo,_" he tossed the disks over to Gino. "Happy April 12th."


	3. I Chapter 3: How the Bitch Saved My Life

Chapter Three: How the Bitch Saved My Life

Gino accepted the game discs, sliding them into one of his jacket pockets. "Hey," he shrugged, "if the universe wants me to play this fuckin' thing so badly… Well, what's the worst that could happen? It ain't like it'll be the end of the world, or anything…just the end of my social life for a while."

I was still studying the now-open lotus flower when I felt something hit my back. Gwen had thrown a pebble at me. "What?" I asked her, sitting back down.

"I saw that huge-ass scar on your chest when you were doing those handstands," she said to me. "Mind me asking how you got it?"

"How do you think?" I grunted. "Strifed with my Sis when I got home from school, Friday… Nearly turned me into human Swiss cheese with her fucking throwing stars. Wait, what's this about me doing handstands?"

"Don't worry about that."

"Your Sis actually _hits_ you during strife?" Gino raised a surprised eyebrow.

I pulled up my shirt, showing him all the thin, white lines that crisscrossed my torso—the scar my Sis had given me on Friday was still raw and red, but I'd cleaned it out with antiseptic. "What, you think I did this to myself?"

"Hey, I strife with my Dad all the time, but he doesn't actually try to _kill_ me," Gino was trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

"Maybe you should try a strife specibus that's a bit manlier than _pizzakind,_" I shot back. "Only injury you'll get from that is burns from the cheese."

"Shows how little you know," Gino shrugged. "My Dad and I completely wasted our last house with our mad pizza duels. Too bad, really…that house was so much better than the fuckin' apartment we're stuck in now."

I yawned, stretching out my arms and legs. "I'm getting pretty tired, now…" I murmured, leaning against the opened lotus flower's pedestal. I was starting to come down pretty hard, now—pretty soon I'd be asleep. Of course, there was always Door #2…

"Well, I know the cure to that, bro," Cruz grinned, extracting Mary from his sylladex and holding up a bag of White Widow.

"Ah… The sweet smell of an all-nighter…" I gave a smile of my own, sitting down next to my friend. "Best thing to get my sleep schedule back on track. Theo, you want to…Theo? Hey guys, where's Theo?" I asked, noticing my best friend's absence.

"He stepped outside a few minutes ago; said he had to make a call," Gwen replied. "Guess he doesn't mind standing in the rain."

I shrugged. "Well, his loss. C'mon, let's do this…"

Cruz finished packing the weed and offered the bong to Gwen. "Greens for the lady," he gave a gallant bow, which did not look very gallant at all due to the fact that he was sitting down. But the gesture spoke for itself.

"Thank you, sir," Gwen took the first hit, causing the bong water to burble until she withdrew the stem and inhaled the smoke. She held it in for a few seconds before giving up the fight and coughing it out in several great heaves. "_Tits,_ that's powerful shit…" she rasped.

"Well, you know why they call it White Widow?" Cruz asked as the bong was passed to him.

"Enlighten me."

Cruz waited until he had taken his hit before exhaling the smoke, now able to answer. "They call it that," he explained, passing Mary over to me, "because when in its plant form, White Widow is actually covered with THC crystals—makes the plant look like it's covered in frost."

I took my first hit, passed it over to Gino. Around and around the bong went, all of us taking our hits until the bowl contained nothing but ash. We all got pleasant body highs from that bowl of Widow, and were content to stay right where we were for the moment. We traded some idle conversation for a few minutes.

"Dude…" Gino nodded over to me. "What if…what if you could see all the weed you've ever smoked ever, just lyin' in front of you?"

"_Haha,_ I dunno…" I giggled. "Smoke it all again?"

That was just one example of the random things we ended up saying to each other.

Eventually, Theo came back inside, and he joined the circle. He mentioned something about wanting to smoke, too, and before I knew it, Mary was making another round of circuits around the circle. When we finished the second bowl, I was plugging myself into my ipod and listening to the best that Hans Zimmer had to offer.

The next few hours were kind of a blur for me. My sense of time always went out of whack when I toked up. Minutes would feel like hours, but then the hours would ultimately end up feeling like minutes. By the time I started coming down, daylight was creeping in through the frog temple's entrance. I fumbled through my pockets for my iphone to check the time, but couldn't find it. I checked again, but this confirmed my suspicion—I did not have my phone.

"Uh…where the hell's my phone?" I asked the others.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Theo dug into one of his own pockets, pulling out my iphone. He tossed it over to me. "Here ya go."

I narrowed my eyes at him, turning my phone on. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, really," he answered evenly.

"What do you mean, nothing _really?_"

"All I did was send out a few texts, have a short conversation; nothing much…" he shrugged. He then cleared his throat and added, "…and you now have a date with Cass Galavis, Monday night. You're welcome."

"_WHAT?_" I gripped my phone even harder, opening my inbox. Sure enough, there were at least a dozen text messages from Cass—Theo had had an entire conversation with her in my name…and, I had to say, he had me nailed pretty well.

The others were breaking down into fits of laughter. "He fuckin' did it!" Gino was wheezing. "Holy shit, I didn't think he'd actually do it!"

"Wait, you assholes _knew_ about this?"

"Oh come on, bro, we all know you've been aching to get into her pants for the past year," Cruz chuckled.

"Dude, shut the fuck up!" I could feel my face reddening.

That made Gino snort with more laughter. "Oh, so you're gay, then?"

"No, I'm not gay, it's just that she isn't that…that…I dunno, that kind of-"

"Alright, dude, look…" Theo silenced Gino with a glare. "Do you want this date or not? If you want, I can call her right now and explain everything…" he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own cellphone.

"_No!_" I knocked Theo's phone from his hand. "No… Okay, _yeah,_ I want the date… You win… Happy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," my best friend nodded. "And I think _you're_ the real winner, here."

Still muttering under my breath, I slipped my phone into my pocket.

* * *

><p>I got home around seven in the evening. We had smoked throughout the morning and early afternoon, and I'd waited for the high to wear off to drop Theo off at his house before heading home. I made myself some ramen noodles for dinner—Sis wasn't home from DC, yet, so I had the house to myself. I then retired to my bedroom and quickly finished off the sheet of math homework that I'd been given on Friday.<p>

With the math homework done, there was nothing else I needed to do before tomorrow, so I headed to bed. It was well before my normal bedtime, but I hadn't slept since I'd woken up yesterday morning—I was asleep within minutes.

I was woken up once in the middle of the night. I could have sworn I'd heard some sort of massive explosion in the near distance, but I had no way to be certain—I was still half asleep. I sank back under my covers and returned to the blissful darkness of sleep.

I had dreams of a radiant, golden city, as well as…_other_ dreams. Dreams of void and silence, of monsters in the darkness…

When my alarm woke me up at six in the morning, I saw a vivid flash of someone's face behind my eyelids…and even though I knew who that person was in that moment, I instantly forgot once I opened my eyes. It was the face of the Phantom—that was what I called the ghostly, shadowy figure that had stalked me for most of my life. It would appear in shadowy places, out of the corner of my eye, only to vanish when I looked to investigate. Sometimes, in my dreams, I would see the Phantom clearly, and I would recognize who it was…but again, I would forget an instant later.

I changed into my school clothes, but ended up having to change my shirt. The shirt I'd put on was a black shirt with a small skull-and-crossbones over the heart. It also had the word 'CREW' in big white letters emblazoned on the back—this was the shirt I'd worn during my time on Stage Crew for my high school's musical, two years ago. It was an awesome shirt; one of my favorites…but I could not wear it. Whenever I put it on, like right now…

I was rocked by images of a giant chamber with walls of red metal, rivers of water flowing out of the ground straight up into the air, defying gravity…and I was being consumed in flames. I got the same feeling every time I wore this shirt…so I avoided wearing it. But I could not bring myself to throw it away, either.

I changed to a plain red t-shirt and threw on my sweatshirt and jacket, heading downstairs and packing up all my school shit. My Sis was sleeping—she'd gotten home very late, so she was sleeping in a bit. Hey, I wasn't exactly complaining; Sleeping Sis could not scar me up quite as much as Awake Sis could. To her credit, she would usually cook me breakfast before I left—her one nice gesture, to balance out the dozens of scars she'd given me.

In the absence of a proper breakfast, I grabbed a pop tart from the cupboard—which, I suppose, could still qualify as a proper breakfast—and shrugged on my backpack. Then it was out to the garage, into Little Blue, down the driveway, and onto the road.

There was no Hans Zimmer for today's morning drive. I'd been in a bit of a mood ever since Theo had pulled that shit with my iphone… I mean, yeah, I wasn't complaining about the fact that I had a date later today, but still… I didn't like how I hadn't been the one to ask her, or how I hadn't even found out about anything until after the deed was done. Now I had no choice… I mean, I couldn't _cancel_ on her, not if I wanted to have any hope of making it to date number two…

I just wasn't happy with how I'd probably be stressing out over the whole thing until the end of the day. I know Cruz would just tell me to relax and chill the fuck out, I have nothing to worry about…but I'm not a stoned out hippie. I worry like a normal, irrational human being.

I pulled into the high school's lower lot. My 1st Period class was Theatre Arts—this class was the main thing that made it bearable to wake up so early in the morning. The teacher was a bit of a sarcastic asshole—well, more than a _bit_—but we got along very well, actually. From there, I pretty much turned my brain off until 4th Period, which was when I had lunch. Next period would be study hall—this was the best part of the day.

I got two tacos from the cafeteria. Theo had taught me the art of drowning out the taste of cafeteria food with all the different condiments that were available—ketchup, mustard, hot sauce, vinegar; he was a culinary master with them. As I thought about Theo, I realized that I hadn't seen him, today. I did not have any classes with him until 8th Period, but I saw him in the hallway and at his locker several times in between classes. He hadn't come to school, today.

As I finished my first taco, my iphone started to vibrate. I pulled it out and saw that my PalHassle app was active—Theo was trying to message me. "Alright, Mr. Gibbons…" I murmured. "Let's see what the hell you're doing…"

* * *

><p><em>-turbulentGamer began hassling anomalousThespian at 10:23-<em>

TG: Hey man  
>TG: I know you might not see this for a little while<br>TG: But I'm alive  
>TG: I know it doesn't seem possible but I'm not dead<br>AT: alright, dude, i'm here.  
>AT: now what the hell are you talking about?<br>TG: Dude  
>TG: Haven't you heard anything about my neighborhood<br>AT: no, what about your neighborhood? i've been pretty out of it this morning  
>AT: still feeling some of the residuals from yesterday.<br>TG: Look I just wanted to say sorry  
>AT: for what?<br>TG: I got the sburb beta in the mail yesterday  
>TG: I wanted to wait for you but I was still kinda high last night<br>TG: Not in my right mind you know  
>TG: So I installed it and connected with Gwen<br>TG: I know we were gonna play it together and I'm sorry for jumping the gun there  
>TG: But the thing is we can daisy-chain the connections<br>TG: Gwen connected with me but you could connect with Gwen  
>TG: And then someone else could connect with you<br>AT: dude, don't worry about it. i think the game came in the mail this morning, but I didn't have time to check.  
>AT: i'll install it tomorrow.<br>TG: NO!  
>TG: No dude you have to do it as soon as you get home<br>TG: Your life depends on it  
>TG: I've been checking one of the walkthroughs on IGN and it says that once the connections start<br>TG: This game becomes a matter of life and death  
>TG: If you don't connect then you'll end up<p>

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling turbulentGamer-_

* * *

><p>"<em>Ballsack<em>…" I muttered under my breath as my connection with Theo failed. The internet was iffy all throughout the school, but the cafeteria and auditorium area was like a dead zone. I guess I'd been lucky to have had a conversation with him at all.

No matter. Whatever he had to say could wait until I got home.

I picked up my second taco and leaned in to take a bite, when-

"_Hey, cutie_."

"Ah, shit," I muttered again, a bit more loudly this time. The Bitch was sitting across from me, and I hadn't even heard her sitting down. "What the fuck do you want, Anna?"

"Still harboring those hard feelings for last year?" she sighed. "Well, I'm not here to talk about that, actually. If you want to live, you'll listen to what I have to say."

"If I want to live?" I echoed. "What's the matter with-"

"_Shh,_" Anna pressed a finger to her lips. "Go on your date with Cass. Yeah, I know about that—congrats on finally asking her out; took you a while to find your balls, there. But you have to get out of here, and soon. She has your 5th Period study hall in the auditorium, too; talk to her and get her to cut school and go out to lunch with you. If you want to live, you'll get out of here before 6th Period. You understand me?"

"Are you threatening to kill me?"

"Quite the opposite; I'm telling you how to save your own life, as well as your future girlfriend," Anna countered. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't be talking to you, right now. Remember—get out of here before 6th Period, or you're a dead man. Understand?"

"Yeah, whatever; just go away."

"Not until I hear you say it."

"Alright, fine! _I understand_."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go home and get buzzed."

And after that, the Bitch left without another word, leaving me slightly openmouthed and dazed. In most of my interactions with Anna Carrero, she was either drunk, or she was trying to toy with me. She wasn't really attracted to me, or anything; she just knew flirting with me would piss me off to no end, so she made sure to do it almost every time we spoke.

But this had been…well, it seemed like she was actually trying to act _serious_. I can't explain why, but she really, _really_ wanted me gone before the end of the day.

I finished my second taco in silence and waited impatiently for the bell to ring.

When it did, I threw my shit into the trash and stepped out into the hallway, walking the short distance down to the auditorium. I took my seat, sitting towards center house. Because the auditorium was where the audience would sit during one of our theatre productions, I instinctively called middle of the auditorium 'center of house'.

Gradually, the dozens of other students who shared my study hall trickled into the room, and the teachers started calling out names. I remained where I was until the teacher responsible for my section called my name. I raised my hand trading a nod with the teacher, watching her mark me down as present.

I sat up as high as I could, scanning through the auditorium, looking for her…then I found her, sitting down towards the stage at the front of house. I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand up, putting one foot in front of the other until I found myself standing next to the row behind where Cass was sitting.

Another deep breath.

I stepped into the row and hopped into the seat next to Cass, giving her a bit of a start. "Oh, sorry…didn't mean to scare you, there."

"You didn't scare me," she said, settling back into her seat.

"Sure, that was just a body-wide muscle spasm," I heard myself saying, finding my laughter. Starting conversations with her was the hardest thing in the world, but once they were started…maintaining them was much easier.

"It was the music that spasmed," she asserted, plucking the earbud from her ear. "You jumped in at the same time."

"The music, yeah… What were you listening to?"

"You probably wouldn't know it."

"Try me."

"Well… It's called _Synchrotone,_ from-"

My face split into a wide smile. "-from the Black Hawk Down soundtrack," I finished for her. "You…you listen to Hans Zimmer?"

"He's my biggest playlist on here," Cass waved her ipod, "because he happens to be a living god."

I'd already forgotten about my earlier hesitance as I got caught up in the conversation, but I also forgot about what Anna had said to me. I didn't remember until we had finished arguing over which Hans Zimmer soundtrack was the best one. I swore quietly to myself, checking the time. It was 11:36, and the period ended at fifty-two… I had sixteen minutes left.

How had so much time passed, already?

"So, um… Look, sorry if any of those texts I sent earlier were kind of weird," I apologized to her for Theo's antics, even if she would never know about them. "I was slightly sleep-deprived at the time."

"I actually thought they were really sweet," Cass chuckled. "But… Well, why did you have to text me at two in the morning?"

"Oh…that…yeah, uh…" I thought fast, "I dunno, I guess I felt kind of…_inspired_ at the time? I just know that if I waited until morning, it wouldn't have been the same."

"Oh, I completely forgot," Cass pocketed her ipod and turned to face me. "Look, I want to hang out, I really do, but…tonight isn't going to work. I just remembered that I have German club tonight…but I'm free this weekend. Want to go out then?"

I was silent for another few moments, processing what she was telling me. To give her an honest answer; _no,_ I _didn't_ want to go out this weekend. I wanted to do it tonight, not stress out over it for another four days. My thoughts were racing close to the speed of light, and so the next thing I blurted out was something that I really hadn't given any thought to beforehand.

"Why don't we go right now?"

Cass blinked. "Now? As in…_now_ now?"

"Why not? It'll be an adventure…the two of us cutting the rest of school to go to Main Street, driving off into the sunset like a pair of the most hardcore rebels in the country."

"…there is no sunset at noon."

I gave her a look. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"Even if you had, that wasn't opinion. That was fact."

"Okay, then, forget the sunset," I sighed, taking another breath to avoid becoming flustered. "Have you ever cut school, before?"

"No, I haven't."

"Okay…well in sixty years, when you're sitting in an armchair with your grandchildren…and when they ask you, 'Granny, what does it feel like to cut school?', what are you going to tell them?" I asked her.

"Well…alright, I guess doing it _once_ wouldn't hurt…" Cass conceded. "I mean, I had all my core classes in the morning. I wouldn't really missing anything important…"

To be perfectly honest, I hadn't really expected to convince Cass to cut school. She was one of those smart, straight-A students. She was completely straight-edged, and she didn't even like to swear. She was the absolute last person who would cut school, but here she was, walking out of the auditorium right alongside me…maybe I'm just more of a bad influence than I would like to think.

No one stopped us as I got my jacket from my locker and walked with Cass out the exit.

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" she was murmuring as we crossed the bus lane and headed down into the lower lot. I led her down to Little Blue and fumbled for the keys so that I could pop the trunk and let Cass dump her stuff into the back. But as I rifled through my pockets, I could not find the car keys.

Then I remembered where they were, and I wanted to pummel myself for my stupidity.

"Hang on, Cass, I left the keys in my locker," I apologized, shrugging off my backpack and leaving it on top of Little Blue.

She frowned at me. "You left your keys in your locker?" she repeated.

"Look, sorry! I put 'em down when I got my jacket," I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Don't judge me! I'll be back in less than a minute…"

Well, maybe not less than a minute…two, three minutes at most. I could run very fast, but I wasn't the starship Enterprise. I was across the lower lot and climbing the steps up to the bus lane within ten seconds…but I never made it across the bus lane. If I had, I probably wouldn't be telling this story, right now.

I'd just taken my first step off the sidewalk and into the bus lane when I heard a deep, roaring thunder coming from above. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked up. It was hard to keep my eyes open because of the rainfall, but I was able to catch a single glimpse of something very bright and very, very _fast_ roaring down through the clouds…

I looked back down, completely frozen. For the briefest of moments, I saw Downingtown East High School, sitting at 50 Devon Drive in all its glory…and then all I could see was a blinding light and smoke, followed by a deafening explosion and a sudden blast of blistering heat.

I lost consciousness almost immediately. The very last thing I remembered was not a sight or a smell—it was a feeling. I was hurtling through the air.


	4. I Chapter 4: Dreams of Gold

Chapter Four: Dreams of Gold

When a person is woken up in the middle of a dream, when they're in the deepest level of their sleep, they'll feel even more tired and bleary than normal. That's how I felt right now as I returned to the waking world. I was back in my bed, that much was certain… And it was bright, which meant it was daytime and the rain had stopped.

I opened my eyes to the sight of a light green ceiling. The walls and floor were the same color, as were my bed sheets. Bright sunlight shined into the room through the windows, bathing my room in a gentle warmth. This light seemed different from normal sunlight…it was not harsh to look at, and it sent a calm, soothing feeling through my body.

I swung myself out of bed. As I stood up, I saw that I was wearing yellow pajamas and light green moccasins—the same color as my room. Taking a brief moment to yawn and stretch, I trudged over to one of the windows and gazed outside.

The sky was a bit unusual. The daylight did not come from a sun or any kind of celestial body—instead, it seemed to radiate from the sky itself. And even though the sky up above was bright and vibrant, the skies above the horizons were black as night. And down below lay a shining city of gold.

"_Prospit_…" I murmured to myself.

I was dreaming.

My mind felt crystal clear. This wasn't the first time I've found myself on the golden city-planet of Prospit, and something I noticed every time I ended up here was how much more... I don't know..._natural_ I felt here? How I felt so much more like myself when I woke up in this strange tower than when I woke up in my bed in Pennsylvania. Almost like the waking world was the dream, and _this_ was my true life. And then I would wake up, and I would forget that feeling.

I climbed up onto the windowsill, grinning as a light, feathery feeling overtook my body. I jumped out into the air, soaring up through the skies. Yeah, I was able to fly, here—I could do many things that outright shattered the laws of physics, and this was but one example.

Now that I was out of my room, I could see a giant, golden planet taking up a good portion of the sky. _That_ was the main planet of Prospit—the place where I was right now was that planet's moon, which was basically a clone of the larger planet, only it was smaller. It was attached to the planet by a gigantic golden chain…

The main difference between Prospit and its moon—besides the difference in size—was the fact that Prospit had eight giant, golden spires topped with orbs of some dark, unknown material. Prospit's moon, on the other hand, had four smaller towers…towers that looked remarkably similar to those stone towers at the Frog Temple, back at Cruz's place. I lived in one of these four towers.

In the near distance, I could see a tall, golden tower that looked identical to my own. It had been in the sky between that tower and mine where I had first met Cruz Arevalo, during a dream much like this one. At the moment, though, no one else seemed to be awake.

That made sense to me. After all, I seemed to remember that it had been daylight when... I frowned, images of rain and fire flashing through my mind.

I slowly sank from the sky, down past the tallest of the buildings and onto a street. I was never sure if the city was made of actual gold, or merely a gold-like substance. Of course, it never really crossed my mind to try and find out. I mean, I was just too engrossed in how fantastical this place was to really care about what the buildings and streets were made of.

The city was not deserted, either. Both Prospit and its moon were inhabited by a strange race of creatures…they were humanoid in shape—arms, legs, torsos, heads—but their 'flesh' was a rigid white carapace. Ridiculous as it may sound, they almost reminded me of white chess pieces…if chess pieces could become sentient and build their own city. Their eyes were dark as night, and they wore plain, gray clothing. I knew they could speak English, but I've never actually conversed with one of them…they always shied away whenever I approached.

But not this time.

There were dozens of the snow-skinned Prospitians going about their everyday business on the road that I landed on, but everything came to an abrupt halt when I reached the ground. They all stared at me in what I could only assume was awe. I mean, I don't know why they always regarded me so—if they knew half of what went on in my mind, they probably wouldn't be so reverent in my presence.

The nearest of the carapacians took a tentative step forward, his little black eyes blinking rapidly, and he laid a hand on my shoulder. Then another one laid hands on me, then another, and another…until finally, I was in the middle of a crowd of Prospitians, like a crowd of lepers trying to touch Jesus.

Oh, shit…did I just compare myself to Jesus? Shit, hold up, my Mary Sue meter just exploded. Let me try that again.

_Ahem_…

The Prospitians all gathered around me, with more and more of them trying to get a glimpse of me, like I was some kind of celebrity. They congregated on this street, emerging from the buildings, from other roads, from alleyways… I walked down this road for a little while, trying to speak with the carapacians, but none of them ever held a conversation with me. They all kept murmuring the same thing—_The Knight has awoken. The Knight has awoken. The Knight has awoken._

I guess I was supposed to be the 'Knight'?

But this was how it went for an undetermined amount of time, until I suddenly heard someone clear their throat from behind, prompting all of the Prospitians to draw away from me. I turned around, coming face to face with another Prospitian. This individual, however, was much taller than all the rest of the carapacians. Instead of the plain, gray clothing worn by the rest of Prospit's populace, this Prospitian was clad in some sort of silver armor, with a plumed helmet that kind of reminded me of the helmets worn by the Spanish Conquistadors of the 1500s. He was flanked by two more Prospitians—one male, one female—also clad in the same kind of silver armor; though they were taller than the average carapacian, they were still a full head shorter than their leader.

"You are not the Sage," the tall, armored Prospitian declared, scrutinizing me with his curious gaze. "Why are you awake?"

"This isn't exactly my first time waking up, here," I replied. I know I should be feeling curious as to who this person was, or what he was talking about…but I just felt free-spirited and light-hearted whenever I was here. But the more serious thoughts were still there, pressing on the outside of my mind.

"You have sleepwalked through our streets in the past, yes," the tall Prospitian conceded. "But never until now have you done so fully awake, like the Sage. But you have awakened prematurely. The Queen warned me about this… You must return to your waking self immediately."

I frowned, starting to step back, but the tall Prospitian grabbed me by the wrist in a grip of steel. I started to protest. "Hey, but I-"

The tall Prospitian drew his dagger and raised it. "Forgive me," he said, before suddenly bringing the hilt of the dagger down onto my head.

* * *

><p>I woke with a start, sitting up in my bed.<p>

But, as I took in my surroundings, I quickly realized that I was not in my bed… I was in a hospital room. There was an IV drip in my arm, a heart monitor blipping silently in the corner, an oxygen mask over my face, and I was dressed in a hospital gown.

That, more than anything, put me into a bit of a funky mood. I hated hospital gowns—I always felt like my ass was hanging out for everyone to see whenever I walked down the hallway, and I would end up constantly checking to see how tight I had tied the drawstrings that secured the gown around my back.

Just as I started to climb out of bed, the door to my room opened and a man in a white coat stepped in. "Glad to see you awake, son," the doctor nodded to me, checking my IV drip. He then removed the oxygen mask and placed his stethoscope onto my back, breathing on it beforehand so that it was not cold to the touch. He performed a few basic exercises, just like I was getting a physical, scribbling notes down into his clipboard.

"Uh, excuse me, but…how the hell did I get here?" I finally asked the doctor after he checked my pupil dilation with a small light.

"Just take it easy, son," the doctor said to me. "Considering what happened to you, the fact that you're alive is a miracle of God, let alone the fact that you have no broken bones or fractures. We thought you had slipped into a coma, but…well, you obviously haven't. We had to dispose of your clothes—they were half burned off, anyway. Your contact lenses had to go, too, I'm afraid."

"You took out my lenses?" my hand flew to one of my eyes out of reflex, and I almost touched my eyeball to see if the doctor was telling the truth.

"Yes," the doctor nodded. "I can see why you wear them... I've never seen a person with eyes that shade of red, before—not even albinos. I know more than a few people who would love to know how you acquired them."

"Okay, wonderful," I moved to get out of the bed. "But if you'll excuse me, I need to get out of here."

"Not yet," the doctor held up a hand. "I'm keeping you here under observation for a couple days. Your body may have sustained trauma that has yet to surface…your mind, as well. Please do not remove the IV or attempt to leave your room—I do not want to have to make the orderlies sedate you, but I will if you do not cooperate. Now if _you'll_ excuse me, the meteor storms have been causing an influx of patients here, these past few hours. I am needed elsewhere."

"_Dick_…" I muttered after the doctor closed the door, settling back into the bed.

The window's blinds were down, but I could hear the heavy rain pattering against the glass, could hear the thunder growling just outside. Sometimes I would even spot the fringe of a lightning flash. Up in the corner of this room was a TV, but I didn't know where the remote was. I glanced to the bedside table and found it, but I also saw my iphone on the table with a post-it note stuck to its screen.

The note read, '_Talk with your friends._' I recognized my Sis's handwriting—she had obviously been here, earlier… I didn't know when she'd be back, though. She was impossible to predict. I gave myself a slight shrug, picking up my iphone and turning it on.

My PalHassle app was going crazy—everyone had been trying to contact me earlier, but Theo and Cass were the only ones still online, at the moment… I clicked on his screen name.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling turbulentGamer at 15:47-<em>

AT: theo?  
>TG: Dude what the fuck happened to you<br>TG: You've been off the grid for hours  
>AT: i had a crazy lucid dream, dude.<br>AT: i've had the same dream before, but i'd always forget most of it when i woke up.  
>AT: i was in that golden city that cruz keeps talking about, and now i'm starting to think it's a real place.<br>TG: It is a real place  
>TG: You were on Prospit<br>AT: yeah, prospit, that's what it was called. how did you know that?  
>TG: It's part of the medium<br>AT: the what?  
>TG: Oh man you've been out of it for a while<br>TG: Look its kinda hard to explain  
>TG: But this game, Sburb… It's not like the Sims dude<br>TG: It actually messes with the real world  
>AT: theo? are you still high?<br>TG: Oh shit I've got company  
>TG: Up to my nuts in imps right now but they have bigger friends on the way<br>TG: Look dude you absolutely have to get home and fast  
>TG: Before the game kills you<br>AT: seriously, are you still high?  
>TG: DUDE IM NOT FUCKING HIGH<br>TG: When you make a new connection and break your artifact the game transports you into the medium  
>TG: But it kills you if you're too slow<br>TG: This game fucking ends the world man  
>TG: But at the same time it's your only hope of survival<br>TG: Fuck I seriously need to go  
>TG: Talk to Cass dude she can explain better<br>TG: And she's gonna need you soon  
>TG: Good luck!<p>

_-turbulentGamer is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>"What the fuck is wrong with everyone?" I murmured to myself, closing out of my conversation with Theo. I checked to see if Cass was on, which she was. I remembered…she had been with me at school before I'd lost consciousness. She, at least, could give me some answers…<p>

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling certifiedGoddess at 15:55-<em>

AT: cass, you there?  
>CG: You're awake!<br>CG: How are you feeling?  
>AT: confused as fuck, but otherwise okay.<br>AT: everyone is going crazy  
>AT: doctor didn't tell me how i ended up here, and theo's going apeshit over that skaianet game<br>AT: keeps telling me that it's going to kill me if i don't play it  
>CG: Well, he's right.<br>AT: oh god, not you too…  
>CG: Alright, look... You're sure you're okay? I've been worried sick.<br>AT: yeah, Cass, i'm fine. what the hell happened?  
>CG: You're probably not going to believe me at first.<br>AT: try me.  
>CG: When you left to get your keys, the school…<br>CG: ehm…  
>CG: It was a meteor. It…it hit the school, completely leveled the place. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen it happen with my own eyes.<br>CG: This big rock comes streaking down through the clouds, trailing fire like a comet.  
>CG: And it slams down into the school… You were thrown all the way down to Route 113, down past the lower lot.<br>CG: You landed on the grass, luckily, which is probably why you weren't turned into a human maraca.  
>AT: HAHA the high school got hit by a fucking <span>meteor<span>? are you fucking kidding me?  
>CG: I wish I was.<br>AT: wait…  
>AT: wait, it was the middle of the school day when that thing hit.<br>AT: oh, shit…  
>AT: <span>shit<span>  
>AT: did…did anyone else survive?<br>CG: I don't know. It was raining, and we were the only ones outside at the time… I just don't know.  
>CG: I mean, our friends are fine. Theo wasn't in school and Anna left during fourth period…<br>AT: ...  
>AT: cass, she knew.<br>CG: Huh?  
>AT: anna. she fucking <span>knew<span>.  
>AT: during fourth lunch, she comes up to me and tells me to<br>AT: well, she tells me that if i didn't leave before 6th period, i would be a dead man.  
>CG: …is that why you wanted me to cut school with you?<br>AT: no, that didn't even cross my mind, actually. asking you to cut was pretty spontaneous.  
>AT: i'm just realizing it now with hindsight. but i'm sure that she knew about this.<br>CG: Now that you mention it, she did talk to me before the day started and tried to convince me to cut school with her.  
>CG: I didn't want to, so maybe that's why she went to you.<br>CG: I guess she somehow knew that you'd try and get me to come.  
>AT: about that, yeah…<br>AT: i mean, i don't mean to change the subject, or anything, but...  
>AT: just... well, as first dates go, this one kind of sucked.<br>AT: sorry.  
>CG: Not necessarily.<br>CG: Kind of hard for it to suck if it never even started.  
>AT: so, um…<br>AT: look, i know it's not the best time to ask, with the school getting blown up and everything, but…  
>AT: well, would you mind trying again?<br>AT: i mean, if i don't ask now, i probably never will.  
>CG: Of course I wouldn't mind trying again.<br>CG: But the world is kind of…well…ending.  
>CG: I don't really think we'll get another chance anytime soon.<br>CG: Look, I'm working on getting Tami into the game, right now, but I'm going to need you soon.  
>CG: Just get back home. Do whatever it takes.<br>CG: Break out if you need to.  
>CG: Just know that Theo was not lying. These meteors…<br>CG: The one that hit the school, the one that destroyed Theo's neighborhood this morning…  
>AT: wait, back up a sec.<br>AT: what's this about Theo's neighborhood?  
>CG: His neighborhood got hit by a meteor late last night, just like the school. Nothing left but a giant crater, now.<br>CG: God knows how many died in that blast…  
>AT: that's impossible.<br>AT: i just finished speaking with theo a couple minutes ago. he's fine.  
>CG: He's fine because his house was transported into the game session <span>before<span> the meteor impacted.  
>CG: But that's not all.<br>CG: Before the meteor hit his neighborhood, Theo installed the Sburb beta and connected with Gwen.  
>CG: Gwen then established a connection with Gino. And not long after Gino got her into the session, another meteor hit the ground where <span>her<span> house had been.  
>CG: Get the picture? Playing the game marks you, somehow… And the only way to survive is to keep playing.<br>AT: what do you mean 'into the session'? you keep saying that; what do you mean?  
>CG: DAMN<br>CG: Sorry, I just smashed one of Tami's guitars… Let me just toss that out the window… Okay, I'm back. Where was I?  
>AT: are you over at Tami's?<br>CG: No, I'm at home.  
>AT: but…how did you smash one of Tami's guitars if you're at home?<br>CG: I can't really explain that until you see for yourself.  
>CG: Just listen to me.<br>CG: Theo tells me the meteors are coming from the game, somehow. Some of them target the individual players, while others simply fall in random places…like the school.  
>CG: Theo, Gwen, and Gino have already been targeted, but they managed to get into the game session before their houses were hit.<br>CG: I'm working on getting Tami in right now, but I'm going to need you to get me in.  
>AT: but i'm kinda stuck, right now. couldn't Cruz or Anna get you in?<br>CG: No. You have less time than they do—if you aren't next on the chain, you'll run out of time.  
>CG: Alright, I have to go.<br>CG: Tami needs to talk to me, and she's almost out of time.  
>CG: Get home as fast as you can and install the game the moment you do.<br>CG: Look, just call me when you get back home, alright?  
>AT: Okay…<br>CG: Good luck!

_-certifiedGoddess is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>Okay, what the <em>fuck<em>.

I've only been unconscious for what, four hours? Five hours? And now everyone was flipping out about this game. I know Cass was not the embellishing type, but I honestly had a hard time believing what she was saying about this game.

But then…but then I _did_ remember, late last night, being woken up by a giant explosion in the near distance… Could that have been a meteor striking Theo's neighborhood? I'm sure it would have been all over the news, but I didn't watch the news in the morning. I didn't drive past Theo's community on my way to school, either…so I guess, theoretically, it could be possible that a meteor had struck the place without my knowing.

People must have been talking about it in school, but I spent most of that day in a haze. I didn't talk to anyone, didn't join any conversations. I just listened to music and slept, really—no, that's not how I am every day, but it was a Monday, and I'd just spent the entire weekend smoking.

Suddenly, I heard thunderous explosion coming from outside. It wasn't a thunderclap—I'd been listening to thunder this whole time, and there was an obvious difference. I climbed up out of bed and trudged over to the window, bringing my IV drip with me. I pulled up the blinds…and nearly fainted at what I saw.

Columns of smoke were rising into the sky.

Streaks of fire were raining down from the storm clouds. Meteors, falling to the earth. Dozens of them… I couldn't hear their impacts over the thunderstorm—the explosion must have been a meteor that had fallen pretty damn close.

"My God… It's the fuckin' end of the world…" I whispered, placing my hand against the glass, watching more and more of the meteors fall from the clouds to the earth. How widespread was this thing? Were these meteors just hitting this area, or was it statewide? Nationwide? _Global?_

Theo had mentioned something about Sburb ending the world, and then Cass mentioned that the meteors came from the game…and now I was watching my little corner of Pennsylvania get destroyed under a hail of comets. This was like something straight out of a bad acid trip…

I turned away from the window. I don't know about you, but the possibility of the world ending was a bit too much to wrap my mind around, at the moment… I mean, who hasn't thought about the world ending these days? But the possibility of having it actually happen…

No. These were thoughts I couldn't afford to have right now.

All I knew at the moment was that this skaianet game was apparently calling down a firestorm of meteors on our heads, and that this game represented a chance to survive everything. _That_ was all I could think about, right now. That, and how I was going to get home…

As if the universe was listening in to my thoughts, my iphone chose that moment to vibrate. I had a new text.

I grabbed my phone and went to my inbox, opening the new text message. It was from my Sis.

**_Bro. Front entrance. Now._**

Well, that settled it. I plucked out the IV drip and tore the monitor pad-thingies from my chest, heading for the door.

If my Sis wanted me out of here, then I was damn well going to leave.


	5. I Chapter 5: Apocalypse Pretty Much Now

Chapter Five: Apocalypse Pretty Much Now

I pulled open the door to my room and stepped out into the corridor. Two orderlies and a nurse were rushing a stretcher past, with a bleeding woman lying on top. From what the hospital staff were saying, the woman must have just come from a car crash.

That woman was not the only one. There were others on stretchers as well, being rushed to operating rooms. The onslaught of meteors really seemed to be wreaking havoc outside—I could only imagine what it would be like in the cities, in the dense, closed-in places.

I think there may have been orderlies outside my door, but they had certainly been called away with the chaos that these meteors were bringing into the hospital. I was able to make it all the way down the corridor without being noticed. After all, when fire and brimstone started falling, who would care about one patient wandering the halls when there were so many who needed attention?

I made it to the elevators and pressed the down button. It lit up, but none of the elevators showed any signs of moving. I pressed the button several more times until my patience finally dissipated, and I ended up taking the stairs. My room had been on the fourth floor, so I had to clamber down eight flights of stairs before reaching the ground floor.

I jogged through the corridors, dodging other patients and the hospital staff. I blew through the emergency room and down another corridor until I found myself at the front reception desk. I didn't stop running.

I heard voices call out after me, felt someone try to grab my shoulder, but I shrugged out of the grip, sprinted out through the sliding glass doors. When I stumbled out onto the roadway, I felt like I was in a dream. The clouds in the sky hung low and heavy, and there was a hellish red glow about them. Streaks of fire seared down through the veil of storm clouds, meteors making their way down to the earth.

It was just odd…seeing the meteors falling to the earth, the red glow of their fire lending that hellish aspect to the day…but having it rain at the same time. I paused for a moment when I made it outside, looking up to the sky and closing my eyes, savoring the feeling of the rain on my face.

There was the sound of a motor, the screech of tires, the smell of heated rubber. A car door opened.

I opened my eyes. Little Blue was sitting in front of me, the passenger seat door open, my Sis behind the wheel. "Oh my God, I've never been so glad to see you before in my life," I said, jumping into the passenger seat. I gripped the sides of my seat, waiting for the acceleration…but it never came. I turned to my Sis, who was still looking at me. "What the fuck are you waiting for?" I nearly screamed at her. "We have to get home!"

Sis arched an eyebrow. She pointed down to my seatbelt—I had forgotten to fasten it.

I muttered something under my breath, grabbing the seatbelt and fastening it. The moment it clicked, Sis pounded the gas and Little Blue screamed forward down the parking lot and out onto the main road. Sis put on the windshield wipers and hit the radio, but all that came out was static. Whatever transmitted the shit for those radio stations probably got hit by one of the apocalypse meteors.

There were a few stations that were still working, but they were some kind of emergency channel get-ups. I caught snippets of some military guy talking about a national state of emergency being declared, impacts of objects of 'celestial origin' occurring worldwide, blah blah blah. I don't know why they couldn't just say 'fucking meteor shower from hell' over the airwaves—that would get the message across in a much clearer manner.

I could only watch as more and more of the 'objects of celestial origin' screamed down through the veil of storm clouds. Though it was still mid-late afternoon, the rainstorm had plunged the area into a premature darkness. And all those meteors looked much more frightening in the darkness. Every few seconds, the thunder would clap and a flash of lightning would illuminate the destruction raining down from above, like a brief moment of freeze-frame.

I watched all of this while Sis stomped on the gas and sent us screeching down the road at upwards of eighty miles per hour, brushing ninety on several occasions. We blew past more car accidents than I cared to count—unfortunate vehicles driven by people not quite as skilled behind the wheel as Sis. Even I'll confess that I probably would have gotten us wrecked at least a dozen times, by now.

There were a few parts of the main road where a meteor had actually impacted, blowing out sizeable chunks of asphalt into giant craters. Sis sent Little Blue into dangerous swerves to avoid these craters—swerves that made me hug my seat belt tight, squeeze my eyes shut, and promise God over and over again that I'd be a better student and quit smoking weed.

I'm not very good at keeping my promises, I guess.

Then I saw the twin red lights blaring out of the rainy darkness, like the eyes of a demon. I pointed at the lights, screamed, "_Traffic light!_"

Sis did not say a word. She only tightened her grip on the wheel and punched the gas even further. We roared towards the red light, pushing at one hundred miles per hour. My grip on the sides of my chair was hard enough to turn my knuckles the color of snow.

There were a couple cars stopped at the red light, and there was a steady stream of traffic traveling on the road perpendicular to us. That was what we were flying towards. "Sis, what are you doing? Slow us down!" my voice almost cracked.

She did not waver. Instead, Sis yanked the wheel to the left, putting us into the _wrong_ side of the road. From there, we cut diagonally across the intersection and back into the right lane at the other side. I watched the red traffic lights streak past overhead, watched the headlights of the other cars going in all directions as we blew right through them, and the only thing I could really do was scream, "_SIIIIS!_" at the very top of my lungs, until my throat felt raw.

I found myself sitting so far back into my seat I wondered how I hadn't simply burst out the back. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax my grip on the sides of the passenger seat. Now, we had cleared the traffic light, and we were back on a long, open stretch of road. I looked over to Sis, who was glancing at me.

Upon seeing me look at her, Sis flashed me a grin, a twinkle of amusement gleaming in her eyes, and she turned her attention back to the road. That was typical Sis…scare the living shit out of me, then have a good laugh about it.

But still…she was here. When it seemed like I wouldn't be able to find a way back home, Sis had come for me. She was here now, breaking more laws than I would care to count, risking her own life to get me home relatively intact—this here was the kind of love known only to siblings who would walk through fire for each other. And if she wanted to take some small measure of enjoyment from scaring me shitless…well, I guess she had kind of earned it.

Maybe.

Don't quote me on that, though, because I'll just deny it.

Leaving the traffic light far behind us, we continued along this road until we finally Route 113. This part of 113 was nowhere near my home, though—it was a pretty long road. The good thing was that we wouldn't have to make any turns until we reached the road we lived on; Sis could put the pedal to the metal all the way back.

And she did…god _damn,_ did she ever.

I know, the whole idea of flying down main roads at ridiculously high speeds may sound like fun…but when you find yourself in the passenger seat? With a firestorm of meteors raining down on your head like fucking Revelations? Not so fun, anymore. I might have even thrown up at one point, but I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast—there was nothing to throw up.

Finally, we started coming up on the intersection between Routes 113 and Route 401—Conestoga Road, which was where I lived. There was a Sunoco here, as well as a restaurant called _Vinny's_. All we had to do here was hang a left until we reached our home. Sis actually slowed us down as we neared the intersection, even taking the time to flick on the turn signal—Route 401 ran up a steep hillside at this intersection, so we couldn't just speed right through the turn. There were giant columns of smoke rising into the air in the near distance—some of the meteors had fallen in this area, evidenced by the fires.

There was a multi-car pileup at the opposite corner of the intersection, as well, just in front of the _Vinny's_ restaurant. There were a couple dazed people standing around the wrecks, and a few more simply sitting in the cars. Some of them weren't moving.

I was busy watching the wreck as we started to make the turn, so I didn't actually see the impact. All I knew was that the world was suddenly plunged into a blazing white light, and I was thrown against the window by a sudden…well, I don't even know what it was. Some kind of shock wave?

I looked up, saw only flashes, quick images. The hillside was gone. The Sunoco was in flames…an entire gas station, gone up in flames… No wonder the explosion had been so violent. I saw Sis hunched over the wheel, her amusement and playful manner gone, replaced with grim determination. I have no idea how the hell she kept it all together—that explosion had been enough to make me want to curl up and die for the rest of the day.

Sis wrenched the wheel back to the right, sending us skidding across the intersection back onto Route 113. We nearly went careening off the side of the road as we came out of that swerve, but Sis managed to yank us back on track using her skill at being awesome. She started accelerating once more, gaining momentum. This part of the road ran at a bit of an incline, so we needed the gas.

I glanced over to the left, saw a familiar street coming up. The name of the road made me quickly think of an alternate way back home that would be faster than getting over to Route 100. "Sis, take Davis," I suggested.

She glanced at me, raising an eyebrow once again.

"Davis leads to Pine Creek, which'll dump us back onto 401," I explained so fast that it sounded like I'd just spoken a single, really long word. By then, Davis Road was right on top of us, so I grabbed the wheel and turned it with Sis. "Left, Sis! _Make the left!_"

She turned the wheel with me before losing control, sending us whipping across the left lane and onto Davis Road. As I'd explained before, this road eventually came out in an intersection in the middle of the woods between Davis and Pine Creek Road. Sis took these roads a bit slower—they were back roads, much windier and twistier than the main arteries we'd been sticking to so far. If we roared down these roads, we wouldn't make it fifty feet before flying into a tree.

Once we made it back onto Route 401, Sis revved the engines right back to fever pitch, and we blew right through the final half mile or so to our home.

"Sis, we need to stop at the mailbox!" I exclaimed, remembering what everyone had been telling me to do. I was surprised when Sis actually hit the brakes and pulled us to a stop, allowing me to open my door and clamber outside.

It smelled like smoke, outside. All the shit getting pumped into the air by all those fires, caused by the meteor impacts, probably had something to do with it. I did not stick around to watch the scenery, however. I sprinted around the car and over to my mailbox, pulled down the flap, reached inside. I pulled out a couple college advertisement letters, a few letters from the school…and a pair of square envelopes that bore the green, house-shaped symbol of Sburb, Skaianet's new game. A server disc and a client disc. It had probably come in the mail this morning, but I'd forgotten to check. Having your high school blown up in front of you tends to make you forget things like that.

With the two game discs in hand, I leaped back into the passenger seat, and Sis drove us up the driveway and into the garage. I was already taking out my phone and scrolling through my contacts. I found Cass's number and pressed the green button, calling her. The phone rang three or four times, but she eventually managed to pick up. She must have recognized my number, because she already knew it was me when she answered.

"_You got out of the hospital alright?_" Cass asked me, her voice quiet and crackling. Her connection was slipping—I'd have to make this quick.

"Yeah, Cass, my Sis got me out of there in one piece…" I murmured, running up the front walk and in through the front door. I could hear Sis closing the garage door outside, but I paid no attention. I had to get this game installed pronto. "Have you looked outside? Everything's going to shit, _everything_… Theo said this game ended the world, but… I mean… Is that actually happening?"

"_I can't think about that right now. None of us can,_" was Cass's response. "_Until we're all safe, all we can afford to think about is starting the game. Yeah, the game is what's causing all this to happen, but it's also our only way out. Trust me, I've been hearing some pretty crazy stuff from Theo and Tami about it_."

As I approached the front door, I noticed a dark, shadowy figure looking at me through one of the tall, vertical windows that were on either side of the door. The Phantom was watching me again, and a faint glimmer of recognition flickered deep within my mind…but then I blinked, and the figure was gone, along with the feelings of familiarity I felt every time I encountered it.

Every time I spotted the Phantom, I always felt… I can't really describe it. It all felt so…so _wrong_… Like the Phantom was not supposed to exist, like I was not supposed to see it…

_Like it hadn't really happened that way…_

I frowned, not knowing where that thought had come from. But I had no time to ponder right now; I had a game to install. I didn't bother closing the front door—Sis would come in behind me—instead running straight to the stairs and sprinting up to my bedroom.

I winced for a moment as I sat in front of the computer. On the top of my computer desk had rested my golden eagle statue—a slightly smaller-scale replica of the eagle standards used by the Roman Legions. But one of the meteor impacts must have been close enough to send it cashing down onto my keyboard. Luckily, there didn't seem to be any damage. I set it back on top of the shelf, back into its place.

I turned on my computer, waiting impatiently for the login screen to come up. When it did, I typed in my password and the desktop appeared, accompanied by a short piece of bagpipe music instead of the usual startup sound.

"_Okay, you have the discs?_" Cass asked me.

"Yeah, I got them from the mail right before I came inside."

"_Good. Take the server disc and run the program on it._"

"This'll install the game?" I asked.

"_Well… No, not quite,_" Cass answered, trying to give me the best possible explanation in an extremely abridged form. "_The actual game is installed from the client disc. But you can't do that until someone establishes a server connection with you. I started a server for Tami to connect to when she ran the client, and I got her into the session. Now it's _my_ turn to run the client, but I need you to activate a server for me to connect to_."

I opened my computer's disc drive and took out the disc from the envelope marked 'Sburb Server'. I slotted the disc into place and closed the drive. The computer was silent for a moment, but then I could hear the disc drive spinning up. After another few moments of waiting, a black window popped open, almost like something straight out of a computer programming class.

_SBURB version 0.0.1_

_© SKAIANET SYSTEMS INCORPORATED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._

_SBURB server is running._

At one point, Cass gave me her IP address, and I entered it into the system. There was about a minute's pause, as the Sburb server searched for Cass's address. Once it came through, a message appeared stating that a connection had been established with a client. The black box then disappeared and the entire screen went dark.

Then the words 'SBURB Server' appeared onscreen in big, green letters. Then the screen resolved into the image of a bedroom. The walls were painted a light shade of violet, there was a bed with lavender sheets, and a purple carpet. There were several Harry Potter posters on the walls, as well as a clay sculpture of a Hungarian Horntail dragon sitting in the corner. A brown-haired girl sat at the desk, hunched over her laptop, holding a cellphone to her ear. I frowned, recognizing her from behind.

"Uh…Cass? Are you in your room, right now?" I asked her. "On your computer?"

"_Yeah, why?_"

"Can you turn around for me and wave?"

I watched as the girl on my monitor swiveled around in her chair. Freckles, small mouth, violet eyes—that made me raise my eyebrows in surprise. Yeah, I was looking at Cass Galavis, even if her eye color was wrong. As I'd requested, she raised her hand and gave a little wave.

"Holy shit," I blinked. "Cass, I, uh… I think I'm looking right at you. How…how is… Do you have a camera in your room?"

"_No,_" I watched Cass shake her head. "_It's the server program. It allows you to interact with and alter the environment around me. Somehow, it also allows you to see where I am, though I have no idea how that works._"

"Ah…okay. Okay… I just feel kinda like a creeper, you know?"

"_Well it's not like I'm taking a shower, or anything,_" Cass chuckled.

I forced a laugh, too, thanking God that Cass couldn't see _me_. I quickly decided to change the subject. "Okay, so I'm looking at you and your room, right now…what the hell do I do?"

"_Do you see the interface? There should be buttons at the top of the screen_."

There actually was an interface overlaid on top of Cass's room. There were seven large buttons in the bar across the top of the screen, and a control panel in the top left corner. The control panel had buttons that could zoom in and out, or rotate my view by ninety degrees in either direction. There were also four arrows which would allow me to shift my view forward, backward, or to the sides.

I drew my cursor over the seven interface buttons at the top of the screen. "Select, Revise, Deploy…Phernalia Registry…Grist Cache, Explore Atheneum, Alchemy Excursus… Okay, what do these buttons mean?"

"_For now, just ignore the last three,_" Cass instructed me, standing up and walking over to her bedroom door. I used the arrow keys to follow her movement. "_The Select tool lets you click on things and move them, Revise lets you change the dimensions of already-existing objects. The Phernalia Registry contains four items that I am going to need to use to enter our session, and the Deploy tool will allow you to…well, _deploy_ them._"

Cass stepped out into her hallway and headed downstairs. I used the arrow keys and the zoom tool to phase my viewpoint through the walls and floor in time to see her reach the ground floor. "_For now, just access the Phernalia Registry, click on the deploy tool, and select the cruxtruder, totem lathe, and alchemiter, and find someplace to put them all. And don't mess with any of them after you put them down, alright?_"

"Got it," I did as she said, opening the registry menu. The first item was called the cruxtruder—a bulky, square platform with a cylindrical hatch extending up from the middle. I selected it with the Deploy tool, and the registry menu vanished. I frowned, thinking I'd done something wrong, and I unclicked the mouse. The cruxtruder, no longer being held up by the Deploy tool, promptly dropped to the floor right at the bottom of the stairs with a resounding crash, sending a few pictures falling down from nearby walls.

Cass was standing at the other side of her living room when I dropped the cruxtruder, and she didn't look very happy when some of the pictures fell from the walls. "_A little more caution would be appreciated,_" was all she said to me.

"I grabbed that thing from the Phernalia Registry menu, on my computer screen…and it just appeared out of nowhere?" I had had a hard time getting over the fact that I could magically see Cass and her house on my computer screen—now I had just proven to myself that this game could actually fuck with the world.

"_Yes, the four items in the Phernalia Registry are deployed _ex nihilo," Cass continued to explain. "_When you release it, it appears in my house. Same goes with all the other items, so please be careful… You could break a lot of stuff if you are sloppy with the controls._"

"I probably woke your Mom with all that racket…" I murmured.

Cass shook her head. "_No, she's awake… I think she's downstairs in the armory. You know how she is with our guns._"

I reopened the Phernalia Registry and used the Deploy tool to set the next machine—the totem lathe—down on the other side of the living room. This machine almost looked like a giant sewing machine, only instead of having a needle and thread at the base, there was a vise-like contraption that looked like it was designed to hold longer, thinner objects.

"Okay, I think I'm getting the hang of this…" I murmured, manipulating the arrow keys and zoom tool to explore through the rest of Cass's house, looking for a place to deploy the final machine—the alchemiter. This machine was the largest—it was shaped similarly to the cruxtruder, only the cylindrical pedestal was much wider and shorter. There was a weird design of geometric patterns etched into the surface of the circular pedestal. There was also a much smaller pedestal set into one of the corners of the alchemiter, an identical pattern etched into its surface as well. A tall contraption that looked like a folded-up mechanical arm sat right next to the smaller pedestal.

"So, uh..." I cleared my throat as I searched for a place to put the alchemiter. "Sorry for asking, but I can't help but notice... Ehm... Why are your eyes appearing violet on my computer screen?"

"_Ah,_" Cass sounded slightly embarrassed. "_Sorry if that disturbs you... I never leave the house without wearing contacts. No one else has seen me without them..._"

Now that was definitely interesting. It was also kind of a coincidence, because it was her favorite color. Hell, it was even the color she used for her PalHassle text. "That's pretty cool, actually," I said, unconsciously brushing a finger across my own odd-colored eyes. "Next time we see each other, I'll have a little surprise to show you."

"_Naughty_."

"Hey, I said a _small_ surprise, not a huge one. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"_Alright, we need to focus. Alchemiter. Deploy. Now._"

I had no idea what any of this shit was supposed to do. All I knew was that Cass wanted me to put it all down somewhere in her house…of course, the living room was the only room large enough to fit these machines without busting through a wall or ceiling, so I ended up setting it down on the roof.

When I told her where I'd deployed the alchemiter, she looked up to the ceiling, hoping I could see her frown…which I could. "_The roof? Really?_"

"Hey, if I put this thing in any other room, it'll bust through the ceiling," I defended my actions.

"_Yeah, okay, but how am I supposed to _get_ to it?_" Cass asked. "_I can't exactly climb out the window and go all Spiderman up the walls._"

"Give me a sec…" I shifted the view of my computer screen back to Cass's bedroom and selected the Revise tool, already having a good idea of what it did. I clicked down on the bedroom floor and brought the cursor up to the ceiling, drawing a crude rectangle. When I unclicked, a small square of the ceiling vanished and a ladder appeared. Cass could now climb up to the roof of her house through her room.

I told Cass what I had done, and she gave a single nod. "_That'll work,_" she said. "_Now deploy the pre-punched captchalogue card from the regist-_"

Suddenly, I heard another giant explosion in the near distance. This one had been much larger than the other ones I'd been hearing—enough to make the windows of my house rattle.

I watched Cass glance upward. She had obviously heard it, too. "_I think Tami's house just got hit,_" she said. She then corrected herself by adding, "_Well, the place where Tami's house_ was,_ at least… I'm almost out of time. Quick, deploy the pre-punched card._"

I accessed the Phernalia Registry once more, grabbing the final object with the Deploy tool. I dropped the pre-punched card onto the floor in front of Cass. "That all you need?" I asked her.

"_Yeah,_" she replied. "_Yeah, I think everything is-_"

She did not get the chance to finish her sentence, for at that moment there was another giant explosion. This one sounded a lot closer and more powerful than all of the meteorites falling from the sky…this one was powerful enough to make my entire house shake. I could hear breakable objects shattering downstairs, dislodged from their resting places by the shockwave. My golden eagle fell from the shelf again, but I managed to catch it before it hit the ground, setting it back up onto the shelf.

I swore out of reflex, sprinting out of my room, through the upstairs hallway, and out onto the balcony. I looked out in the direction of the explosion, and I could see yet another pillar of thick, oily smoke spewing out into the air. I found that I was pressing my cellphone rather painfully into the side of my head, and I forced myself to relax my grip. "That was a little too close for comfort, wouldn't you say?" I asked Cass.

I got no response, prompting a frown. "Cass? Cass, you there?" I glanced at my cellphone and quickly realized that I'd just lost my signal. I tried calling Cass once again, but nothing happened. My signal wasn't coming back. I swore once again, but paused when I saw that I still had an internet connection.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling certifiedGoddess at 16:43-<em>

AT: cass, please get back to your computer…  
>AT: i lost my cellphone service, but i still have my internet.<br>AT: i can see you doing some weird shit with that captchalogue card i dropped for you.  
>AT: goddamnit, cass, that is the <span>opposite<span> of getting onto your computer.  
>AT: c'mon, don't you even have palhassle on your phone?<br>AT: i don't know what to do with these stupid machines when i start the client  
>AT: so you should totally get back on your computer and tell me what the hell you're doing.<br>AT: crap.  
>AT: i'm getting messaged<br>AT: hold on…

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling certifiedGoddess-_

* * *

><p><em>-conquistadorsAshes began hassling anomalousThespian at 16:45-<em>

CA: hey bro  
>CA: u ready to run ur client<br>AT: hey, cruz.  
>AT: i'm out of the hospital. doing fine, thanks for asking.<br>CA: thats good bro  
>CA: good ur doin fine<br>CA: but i mean i think u should be focusin on startin up ur client  
>CA: u kno so u dont get blown up by the meteor headin right for ur house<br>AT: meteor heading for my house?  
>CA: ya its how the game gets its players to start their sessions<br>CA: all those meteors falling outside come from the game  
>CA: but the game also sends certain meteors that are<br>CA: like  
>CA: targeted specifically for the players<br>AT: like how that one meteor destroyed theo's neighborhood?  
>CA: yeah bro exactly like that<br>CA: if a player doesn't enter his session fast enough  
>CA: KAFUCKINBLOOEY<br>CA: hahahe  
>CA: but yeah<br>CA: thats what happened to theo but he entered our session before the meteor hit  
>CA: when u enter ur session it transports u to like<br>CA: another dimension or something  
>CA: hard to explain hard to believe<br>CA: but theo and his house were transported away just before his meteor hit  
>CA: thats y u were able to talk to him earlier<br>CA: thats y hes still alive  
>CA: thats why gwen gino and tami are still alive<br>CA: ya gwen gino and tami all had meteors comin for their houses too but they all got each other into the session  
>CA: those meteors hit while u were sleepin in the hospital<br>CA: except the tami meteor that one was the one that just went kaboom and killed my cellphone service  
>CA: geez bro uve been unconscious for too long<br>CA: and in about a minute or so the next meteor will hit casss house  
>CA: casss<br>CA: fuck i need an apostrophe for that motherfucker  
>CA: cass's house<br>CA: bleh that felt fuckin weird  
>AT: dude, were you born with a freakin joint in your mouth?<br>AT: god damn, how can you be high 24/7 and still function?  
>CA: just cuz im baked dont make me wrong bro<br>CA: look just run the sburb client  
>CA: and check out one of the ign walkthroughs while its installing<br>AT: what about Cass? i can still see her, but i lost contact with her.  
>CA: cass knows what to do bro shell be fine<br>CA: u tho  
>CA: u need to get ur shit together fast cuz u dont have a lot of time<br>CA: the countdown aint started by activatin the cruxtruder  
>CA: its just a measurement of a preexisting predestined event<br>AT: wait, countdown?  
>AT: what's this about a countdown, now?<br>CA: see u on the other side bro

_-conquistadorsAshes is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>I clenched my phone and resisted the sudden urge to pitch it off the balcony halfway across the yard. It was frustrating, extremely <em>frustrating<em> to be so out of the loop…but, I mean, it's not like I _asked_ for the school to get blown up right in my face. My connection with Cass was gone, and Cruz was being less than helpful, so I'd have to learn this shit all by myself.

And either way… I kept on thinking about how Cruz had mentioned that there was a meteor heading right for my house. I still didn't understand much of anything about this game or what it did, or even how to get _into_ the game…but having a meteor careening towards me was something I _could_ understand.

And so, I ducked back inside and returned to my bedroom. I opened the disc drive and removed the server disc. I shook the client disc from its case and stuck it into the drive in the server disc's place, closing the drive up. The server application was still running—I could still see Cass on my computer screen, doing some weird shit with the cruxtruder. I minimized the server application and opened my Hyperion web browser, going straight to IGN.

The disc drive was warming up as I navigated through the IGN forums, searching for the Sburb walkthroughs. I ended up having four walkthroughs to choose from, all of them hosted on GameFAQs. I selected the most recently updated one, which had actually been posted today, and started to read.

* * *

><p><em>Sburb Beta Walkthrough<br>Version 1.0, April 13, 2009  
>By tentacleTherapist<em>

_====================== TABLE OF CONTENTS ===========================_

_Caveats and Condolences . . . . . . . . . . . . .[0000]_

_Walkthrough (Incomplete) . . . . . . . . . . . .[A000]_

[0000] Caveats and Condolences  
>================================================================<p>

_I'd be inclined to dispense with the trite even under less pressing circumstances…_


	6. I Chapter 6: A Grand Sendoff

Chapter Six: A Grand Sendoff

I was still reading the Sburb beta walkthrough on GameFAQs when the black box from the client disc popped up onto my screen. I minimized the Hyperion web browser and quickly read through the text in the black window. It said the client was running, but that it was waiting for a connection to a server.

It was more or less identical to the window that had popped up to start the server application. I went back to reading the walkthrough for the next minute or so, quickly skimming through the section about the different machines from the Phernalia Registry. I would have ended up skimming even if I wasn't in a hurry—whoever wrote this thing tended to use unnecessarily fancy language. I mean, there comes a point where simpler is better…and with game walkthroughs, simpler was usually always better.

I'd already brushed through the sections on the cruxtruder and pre-punched card, and I'd only just managed to finish the section on the totem lathe before that small black window popped up again. This time, the 'waiting for connection' had been replaced with more text confirming a connection.

_SBURB version 0.0.1_

_SKAINET SYSTEMS INCORPORATED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._

_SBURB client is running._

_A SBURB host user is attempting to connect with you._

_Client has established connection with host._

_Press [ENTER] when ready._

That must have been Cruz. Like me, he'd probably just hosted his own server and connected to me while I ran the client. Just as the window popped up, I swore again, nearly jumping out of my seat when yet another gigantic explosion rocked my house. This meteor had impacted a bit further away than the last one, but it must have been slightly bigger, for the explosion was just as loud.

I swore as my golden Roman eagle replica statue fell off the top of the computer desk again, just barely managing to catch it before it hit the ground. I absentmindedly set it back up onto the shelf once again, making a mental note to move it once I was finished with the client application.

Remembering what Cruz had just said, I knew that it was most likely the meteor that had been bound for Cass's house. Struck with a sudden sense of concern, I briefly brought up my server application, checking on Cass. She and her house, to my great relief, were perfectly fine. There was a strange, reddish light shining in through her windows, but I did not have time to investigate—I had my own shit to worry about.

I brought the client window back up and pressed enter on my keyboard. The black window faded away, and my computer screen turned completely white. As I watched, a bright green spirograph appeared above a loading bar. As the bar started creeping towards 100%, the spirograph started changing shape, the curved lines that made it constantly reshaping themselves into different patterns. The background started changing color, as well—it started out as plain white, but eventually morphed into a bright green, then to a blue, then to a reddish-pink tone.

Throughout all this, clouds started moving across the screen. It started out as a simple background animation, but it gradually grew crazier and crazier until it looked like I was staring into a kaleidoscope of colors, pictures, and lines. Finally, once the loading bar was complete, the screen went black, and the name _SBURB_ appeared in large, green letters, much like it had with the server application.

And after the title screen presented itself…my computer screen returned to the desktop. There was no icon for the Sburb client, nor was the disc performing any kind of additional activity. It seemed that the only function of the client program was to allow my server player to manipulate my surroundings—I did not have to actually do anything on the computer. Not for a little while, at least.

I brought my internet window back up, continuing to read the Sburb beta walkthrough. As I read through the section concerning the alchemiter, I could hear thumps coming from downstairs. Cruz was deploying the machines from the registry, no doubt. Just as I finished reading about the alchemiter, I saw a shadow pass by my window. I stood up and glanced outside just in time to see the alchemiter floating through the air before coming to a rest on the balcony.

I turned away from the window and took a step forward…only to bump my head on the bottom of the totem lathe, which had suddenly appeared in midair right in the middle of my room. "_Ow,_" I stumbled back, holding my forehead. I then straightened back up and gave my ceiling the middle finger. "Watch it, dude!"

I received two responses. First, my PalHassle app on the iphone buzzed an alert, and a pre-punched captchalogue card appeared out of nowhere and fell right onto my head.

* * *

><p><em>-conquistadorsAshes began hassling anomalousThespian at 16:53-<em>

CA: sorry bout the lathe bro  
>CA: didnt expect u to turn around so fast<br>AT: it's fine, dude; just surprised me is all.  
>CA: surprised you<br>CA: this comin from the dude who gets into knife fights with his sister on a regular basis  
>AT: like you can talk, mister i-get-into-lasergun-duels-with-my-Grandma.<br>AT: may your Grandma rest in peace.  
>CA: until i see her again<br>CA: but yeah ok back to the game  
>CA: u read the walkthrough bro<br>AT: yeah, dude.  
>CA: right right so u know what to do with all the machines<br>CA: cruxite dowel and punched card to the totem lathe  
>CA: carved dowel to the alchemiter<br>CA: get the artifact  
>AT: how do i get the cruxite dowel, again?<br>CA: u go to the cruxtruder bro  
>CA: u go to the cruxtruder and use something heavy to bang in the top<br>CA: that'll open it up  
>AT: okay, i'll message you again in a minute.<br>CA: aight bro

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling conquistadorsAshes-_

* * *

><p>I picked up the pre-punched card and examined it. On it, still clearly visible despite the punch marks, was the image of a red wine glass.<p>

Still wondering what the card meant, I pocketed it and clambered downstairs. The dining room table was gone, now, replaced by the bulky cruxtruder. I ran a finger across the smooth, metal surface, almost as if I had to make sure that this was a real thing that had just appeared from nothing…which it was. I ran a hand across the very top of the machine—the part that I was supposed to hit in order to open it.

I tried pressing down on the top of the cruxtruder, and I could feel a faint give…but I knew I did not have the brute strength required to pop it open. Even so, I tried hitting it several times. I even climbed up on top and tried jumping up and down, but even one-twenty-five pounds of frustrated, confused American teenager was not enough to make the cruxtruder budge.

Ultimately, it was Cruz who solved my problem, meddling with my house using the controls granted to him by his own server application. I watched the refrigerator get dragged into the dining room through the kitchen doorway and rise up into the air, turning horizontal. I winced, trying not to think about all the foodstuffs that were no doubt getting thrown all over the place inside. Cruz maneuvered the fridge up over the cruxtruder…and then brought it crashing down on top of its cylindrical shaft.

In quick succession, three things happened. First, the top of the cruxtruder—the part with the green spirograph engraved on its round surface—popped right off, clanging to the floor. Second, the four previously dark panels set into the sides of the cruxtruder lit up, displaying a timer that was steadily counting down to zero. And third, an orb of bright, shimmering red light rose up into the air, humming with some kind of unknown energy.

As Cruz put the fridge back into the kitchen, I looked at the orb of pulsing light, trying to figure out what the hell it was. It certainly didn't match the description of what the cruxite dowel was supposed to look like. But then I remembered something else from the section of the walkthrough on the cruxtruder, mentioning an object called…uh…the 'kernelsprite', I think…yeah, I think that's what it was.

The walkthrough described the 'kernelsprite' as an object that was released upon the opening of the cruxtruder, but it gave no other description. The writer said that the kernelsprite was irrelevant at the moment, and that he or she would get back to it later on in the walkthrough. I didn't have time to scroll down and check.

As for the timer… I glanced at the panels on the cruxtruder—they all read the same thing: a countdown.

_1:23… 1:22… 1:21… 1:20…_

That couldn't mean anything good…

I quickly grabbed the black wheel set into the side of the cruxtruder's shaft and turned it. A red, cylindrical object rose out of the shaft, churned out by the turning of the wheel. _This_ had to be the cruxite dowel.

I picked up the object—which surprisingly felt almost weightless—and started heading for the stairs when my iphone started buzzing again.

* * *

><p><em>-conquistadorsAshes began hassling anomalousThespian at 16:56-<em>

CA: bro u get ur artifact yet  
>AT: my what? i just opened up the cruxtruder, dude.<br>AT: shit, the kernelsprite looks so trippy. you seeing this?  
>CA: ya bro im seein it<br>CA: cmon man u gotta step it up  
>CA: get the dowel and the pre-punched card to the totem lathe<br>CA: sorry i forgot to mention the kernelsprite its actually kinda important  
>AT: yeah, I figured. look, can we talk about it later? this countdown is kinda freaking me out.<br>CA: ya right whats the timer on the cruxtruder say  
>AT: uh…<br>AT: it just reached one minute and five seconds.  
>CA: !<br>CA: FUCK DUDE RUN UR FUCKIN ASS OFF  
>CA: GET THE SHIT TO THE FUCKIN LATHE DUDE GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO<br>AT: i'm going, i'm going!  
>AT: jesus, dude, calm down.<br>CA: bro that timer tells u how long u have before ur meteor FUCKIN OBLITERATES U  
>AT: i have less than a minute before my house gets hit by a fucking meteor?<br>CA: YES

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling conquistadorsAshes-_

* * *

><p>I just dropped my iphone, sprinting upstairs with the cruxite dowel. The totem lathe was still sitting in my room, right where Cruz had left it. I set the cruxite dowel down onto the lathe, tightening the vice so that the dowel was secured. I then slipped the pre-punched card into the open receptacle slot and punched what I hoped was the lathe's power button.<p>

I was faintly aware of the scarlet kernelsprite hovering close behind me, following me upstairs and into my room. Right now, it was hanging out next to my computer.

The lathe started spinning the dowel very rapidly as its carving tool extended down from its apparatus, coming into contact with the cruxite and carving it up. Once the lathe was finished, the cruxite dowel was no longer cylindrical—it still possessed a round, flat top and bottom…but its surface area was all wavy and warped, now. Almost like taking a small block of metal and carving a set of key grooves into it.

Having no time for questions, I just grabbed the carved cruxite dowel and rushed down the upstairs hallway. There was another close-by meteor impact just then, causing my house to rumble and shake once more as I ducked out into the hallway. There was a bright flash of crimson light that washed out my room for a moment, but I had no time to investigate. I moved out onto the deck, ignoring the shadowy figure of the Phantom that was lurking outside the door—it just vanished when I looked directly at it.

The air outside smelled even more like smoke, and the rain was coming down even harder. Within seconds, I was completely drenched—I remembered then that I was still only wearing a hospital gown. My Sis was standing at the other end of the deck, watching the hellstorm of meteors. She saw me stumble outside and started towards me, but I did not pay any attention to her, either. I ran straight over to the alchemiter and put the cruxite dowel on top of the smaller pedestal.

Once I did this, the alchemiter's mechanical arm extended upward and swiveled back down, bringing the tool at the very end down and around so that it was pointing straight at the carved dowel. The tool at the end lit up and some kind of laser beam shout out of it, making contact with the carved dowel, scanning its contours.

There was another flash of red light, and suddenly a large object appeared on the bigger pedestal of the alchemiter. It was a canopy, supported by four poles at the corners—and it was completely red, the exact same color as the kernelsprite. It was a _chuppah,_ or a wedding canopy. There was a short man, as well, dressed in what I recognized as the garb of an orthodox rabbi—also completely red; clothing, flesh, and all—who appeared under the canopy, holding a red wine glass. It was like something straight out of a nightmarish wedding.

The translucent, red man placed the wine glass down onto the pedestal, tipped his hat to me…and vanished. The canopy vanished with him, almost as if it had never existed. I probably would have believed I'd imagined the whole thing, if not for the red wine glass, which had remained—the only evidence of that crazy happening.

I picked up the bright red wine glass, inspecting it for a moment. This had to be the cruxite artifact Cruz had mentioned. I'd read in the walkthrough that my entrance into the session—again, whatever the hell that meant—was supposed to be facilitated by me breaking it in a certain way, but I wasn't sure what that entailed. The writer of the walkthrough had said that the card she deployed contained a blue apple, which was absolutely nothing like the one I had gotten.

Having no other real choice, I raised the wine glass, ready to dash it against the floor and shatter it. As I raised it, I became aware of a low rumbling noise, coming from the sky above. It wasn't thunder…it was a constant noise, a bit quieter than the thunderclaps. Though I could not see it through the veil of storm clouds, I knew that the meteor bound for my house was just about to arrive.

I took a deep breath. "_Here goes nothing_…" I murmured, bringing the glass swinging down…only to have it bounce off the floor. I hadn't even made a scratch. I muttered under my breath and picked it back up, raising it and bringing it down again, harder this time, only to be stopped by an iron-hard grip on my wrist. My eyebrows met in a deep, furious frown as I looked up at Sis, who had caught my hand.

Even before I could speak, she placed a finger on my lips, shaking her head once. She took the red wine glass from my grasp and placed it on the floor of the balcony, tapping her foot next to it. Suddenly, reflecting upon the Jewish wedding canopy and the rabbi, I knew what I was supposed to do.

I raised my foot, balancing on the other.

A roaring noise split open the skies as a giant ball of light and fire tore through the rainclouds. I only saw it in my periphery vision—had I taken the time to look up, my story probably would have ended right here and now. But I didn't look up. I'd already known there was a meteor coming for me; what difference would it make if I got a good look at it, or not?

I stomped my foot down, shattering the glass.

I could feel the heat of the meteor as it came thundering down into the ground. There was a giant explosion of red light, temporarily blinding me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the painful light. My chest was heaving for breath, even though I could breathe just fine. Maybe I just needed some kind of reminder that I was still alive.

And suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the blinding light faded away. All I could hear now was the steady pattering of rain, and the sound of running water. I opened my eyes, finding myself sharing a tight embrace with my Sis.

Sis smiled at me and extricated herself from my grip, taking a step back. The meteor was gone…and so were my neighbors, my street—all replaced by…something else. Where the hell was I?

I gazed out over the strange, unbelievable landscape that stretched off into the distance in all directions. I then lifted my foot, observing the shards underneath. That was all that remained of the glowing red cruxite wine glass that had been produced by the alchemiter.

I took a deep breath, speaking the only thing that was on my mind in that very moment.

"_Mazel tov, motherfuckers_…"

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT I<strong>


	7. II Chapter 7: The Medium

**Act II: Concerning A Knight and His Place in a New World**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Seven: The Medium<span>

It was a beautiful land that my house had been transported to. I could see occasional, tiny patches of a ruby sky through the veil of violet clouds. The sun was obscured—if it was indeed a sun that was the source of this daylight—but the clouds were not thick enough to plunge the area into complete shadow. Rivers flowed through the land, winding off into the distance, as far as the eye could see.

A constant rain fell all throughout the land, as well. It was not a heavy rain; more like a light summer shower. The raindrops were warm to the touch, as well; it felt almost pleasant to stand in the drizzle. When I caught some of the raindrops in my hands, I saw that even the rainwater was tinted a slight violet color, just like the clouds that they fell from.

Hanging in the air above my house was a red object… It was an epicycloid, exactly like one of those patterns that had shown up during the installation sequence of the Sburb beta client, or the symbol emblazoned on top of the cruxtruder. Only this object seemed to glow and hum with its own energy. And further up in the sky, above the glowing red epicycloid…was _another_ glowing red pattern of curves and arcs, exactly like the first. And I could see a third one even higher up in the sky. They did not seem to be doing anything, really…other than just hanging in the air and looking like the trippiest thing I'd seen in the past sixty seconds.

The land was a mixture of forests, hills, and meadows. In the distance, I could see the faint shapes of a mountain range. There were also a couple structures that dotted the landscape, tall brick towers. Clock towers, I think they were.

Oh, right, I forgot to mention one key detail about the rivers. See, they were exactly like any normal rivers…except for the small fact that they flowed through the sky, not the ground. Some of them came close to brushing the treetops, others climbed hundreds of feet into the air—some even extended past the clouds.

There were also earthen, clay-like paths that wound through the forests and hills. At first glance, I thought that those paths were roads, but when I looked really closely I could see that they were not. They were almost like canals, dried-up waterways hewn from the earth. From the looks of them, water had not flowed through them in quite some time.

I turned around to speak with Sis, but found myself looking at an empty balcony. She was gone. I called out for her, but there was no response. I was alone.

I considered heading downstairs and going outside, but quickly perished the thought when I looked back down at the ground. My house had been transported to this strange world, along with most of the yard…but the game seemed to have deposited me on top of a mesa of some sort. A sheer, tall butte—almost like Devil's Tower, only much taller—was what my house was resting on top of.

There was no way in hell I was going to be able to climb down that shit, not without proper climbing equipment.

And so, it was back inside for me.

I headed back into the hallway, only to be greeted by a bright surge of scarlet light. Something screeched, and I felt a sharp object peck at my head, just over my ear. I swore, ducking to the ground, touching a finger to my head, just above my left ear. It came away bloody.

I looked back up and managed to get a quick glimpse of the glowing red entity. I quickly realized that it was the kernelsprite, but it had changed…drastically changed. The humming red energy was no longer flashing like a strobe light. The color remained, but the glow was much softer. As for the actual sprite… It was an eagle ghost, for lack of a better description. The sprite's head and upper body was that of an eagle. It was bristling with red feathers, and two great wings sprouted from its back, though it did not seem to need the wings in order to fly—the sprite was able to float in the air of its own volition.

Somewhere around where the eagle's midsection would be, its feathers grew smaller and smaller until they simply melted into the crimson energy that the sprite's body was composed of. Instead of having feet or tail feathers, however, the sprite's body simply tapered down into a wisp of energy that always left a faint trail in its wake, which is why I called it an eagle ghost.

"Someone feed me shrooms in the hospital?" I was muttering to myself, hurrying downstairs so as to avoid another divebombing. I found my iphone, lying right where I'd dropped it. I picked it up, pressed the power button, turned it back on. I arched an eyebrow in surprise when I saw five bars in the upper corner—I had a signal, here, somehow.

I headed back upstairs, sprinting past the eaglesprite and into my room, slamming the door shut behind me so the sprite could not follow. I allowed myself a moment to breathe. Finding myself in an unknown place, combined with being attacked by a glowing red eagle ghost…I just needed a few moments of peace before deciding what to do next.

As I sat down in front of my computer I noticed that my Roman eagle replica was gone, but I could not find it when I searched the floor. I shook my head once—I'd really liked that eagle statuette, and I probably should have found a new place for it when it kept falling off the shelf, but everything was happening so fast…

I opened up PalHassle and checked to see if Cass was online, which she was.

Time for some goddamn answers.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling certifiedGoddess-<em>

AT: cass?  
>AT: dear god, please respond to this.<br>CG: I'm here, I'm here!  
>CG: You made it in safely, I'm assuming?<br>AT: safely?  
>AT: i was two seconds away from getting blown to sunshine by a fucking meteor.<br>AT: you call that safely?  
>CG: Well you're still alive, aren't you? You still have all your limbs, don't you?<br>CG: Considering what's happening to Earth, right now, I would call that safely.  
>AT: okay, point taken.<br>AT: enough about that; i need some goddamn answers.  
>AT: how about we start with…oh, i don't know…<br>AT: where the flying fuck am I?  
>AT: i went all jewish on my artifact, and suddenly i'm in a trippy place with floating rivers.<br>AT: what the fuck.  
>CG: You're in the Medium. Our Sburb session generated a sort of pocket outside of spacetime.  
>CG: Once you break your artifact, you and your house are transported to the Medium.<br>CG: Within the Medium are a number of planets, and each individual player gets their own planet.  
>CG: That is where you are, right now. On your planet.<br>CG: Sorry, I'm learning all this from my sprite, and he's kind of…difficult to speak with.  
>CG: Being a dragon and all…<br>CG: Why don't you talk to your sprite?  
>AT: what, that glowy orb thing?<br>AT: yeah, about that. it kinda just…randomly turned into an eagle ghost, and it's kinda freaking me out.  
>CG: A what? What did you prototype the kernelsprite with?<br>AT: what did i what the what with?  
>CG: 'What' ain't no language <span>I<span> ever heard of!  
>AT: ?<br>CG: Haha, sorry, I crack myself up.  
>CG: Alright, how can I explain this…<br>CG: You've read part of the walkthrough, so you already know what the kernelsprite is.  
>CG: The thing about the kernelsprite is that you can prototype it!<br>CG: And by that, I mean you can take an object;  
>CG: preferably something living, previously living, or a representation of a sentient creature<br>CG: and you can drop it into the kernel. What will happen is that object will merge with the kernel, becoming a kernelsprite.  
>CG: After entry to the session, the 'kernel' portion of the kernelsprite will divide in half and vanish<br>CG: leaving only the prototyped sprite portion.  
>CG: So you must have prototyped your kernel with some sort of bird. How'd you manage that?<br>AT: ehm… i think it was my roman eagle statue.  
>AT: it was always falling from its shelf every time there was a big tremor from the meteors.<br>AT: it must have fallen right into the kernel while i was outside fucking with the alchemiter…  
>AT: and these things are supposed to be helpful?<br>AT: all it's done so far is screech and divebomb me. the fucking thing even drew blood.  
>CG: Well… I mean, I prototyped my kernel with my Hungarian Horntail sculpture, but a dragon is a bit different than an eagle.<br>CG: A dragon is sentient, mythical. There is a personality associated with it.  
>CG: Eagles are birds. Birds are…well, they're <span>birds<span>. You won't get much help from a bird.  
>AT: okay, i'll just file this info into a folder marked 'shit i wouldn't have minded knowing half an hour ago'.<br>CG: Don't worry! The nice thing about sprites is that you can prototype them again!  
>CG: You can take another object and merge it with the eaglesprite, and it'll become…a something-else sprite.<br>CG: And the next object you choose should be, like I said, something living or previously alive.  
>CG: Or even a representation of something with a personality. Just try and make sure it's something sentient.<br>CG: Theo prototyped his Subject Delta figurine. You know, the big diving suit guy from Bioshock 2?  
>CG: Apparently Deltasprite has been one of the most helpful sprites so far. Go figure.<br>CG: But yeah, if you prototype something like that, your sprite should be able to communicate with you.  
>AT: great, so it'll be able to talk to me while it pecks me to death.<br>AT: what the hell am i even supposed to do here?  
>AT: i'm stuck on the top of a mountain, here, with no way down.<br>CG: You need to climb to your first gate. You saw the glowing portals in the sky over your house?  
>AT: yeah, i did.<br>CG: There are seven of them. The seven gates. Your server player has to use the Revise tool to build your house up to the first gate, which will transport you down to your world.  
>AT: well, he's a little occupado at the moment. meteor screaming toward his house, and all.<br>CG: You need to start getting build grist, anyway. Anything you do with the Revise tool costs build grist.  
>CG: Even if Cruz tried to build up your house right now, he'd just run out of grist.<br>AT: okay… where do i get grist, then?  
>CG: Underlings drop it when you kill them.<br>AT: underlings?  
>AT: shit, hold on a sec.<br>AT: i think i hear someone downstairs.  
>AT: my sis must be back.<br>AT: brb  
>CG: No, wait!<p>

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling certifiedGoddess-_

* * *

><p>I pushed away from the computer and headed over to my door. I opened it slowly, peering cautiously out into the hallway, waiting for the red eagle ghost to come screaming at me. The sprite was gone, however, so I moved down the hall to the stairs with little threat of attack.<p>

I could still hear someone moving around downstairs, in the kitchen. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I peered through the kitchen doorway, but the lights were out and I couldn't see. I reached around the doorframe and flicked on the lights…and nearly shouted in surprise.

Perched on the kitchen counter, tearing into the bread cupboard, was a smaller creature—about as tall as my shoulders—with glistening sharp teeth, claws, and white eyes. Its flesh was shiny and black…almost like the carapace of the Prospitians, only ebony in color. It gave a sharp growl, whipping around to face me as I turned on the lights. We stared at each other for half a second before the imp-like creature gave a sudden screeching howl and pounced at me.

"_Fuckshit,_" I swore, backpedaling to avoid the imp. The creature's claws missed me by inches, swiping through empty air.

Years of strifing with my Sis came back to me, then, and I closed my eyes, mentally accessing my strife specibus. As I clenched my right hand into a fist, my fingers curled around the familiar handle of my Bowie knife. I sidestepped the imp's next lunge, slashing the creature across the back. The imp screeched again, stumbling past me.

This time, _I_ lunged forward, holding my knife out in front of me and bringing it slashing across the imp's throat in a single, lightning-fast stroke. The creature pitched forward onto the floor without a single word. Its body shimmered and vanished—all that was left were a few blue objects that kind of looked like giant gushers. This must have been the build grist Cass had mentioned.

I bent down to pick them up, but they vanished the moment I touched them.

"Okay… Okay, just keep breathing…" I murmured softly to myself, slowly heading back upstairs to my room. I closed the door and sat down in my rolley-chair, staring at the door for the longest time. I had no idea what the fuck had just happened, but…well, okay, no. I _did_ have an idea of what had just happened. And that was the problem.

I turned back to my computer, remembering that I had cut short my latest conversation with Cass.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling certifiedGoddess-<em>

AT: …  
>CG: It was an underling, wasn't it?<br>CG: Are you alright?  
>AT: i'm fine…<br>AT: um  
>AT: okay, so…<br>CG: Your planet is filled with underlings. They exist to oppose you in your quest. There are many kinds of them, as well.  
>CG: Some of them fly, some breathe fire, some are giants.<br>CG: Killing bigger underlings yields a higher reward of grist.  
>AT: i didn't get any from that small little shit i just killed, though.<br>AT: i touched it and it just disappeared.  
>CG: It went into your grist cache.<br>CG: All grist you pick up goes to your grist cache, where Cruz can use it to build up your house.  
>CG: Kill enough imps, ogres, and what have you, and you'll be able to pass through your first gate.<br>CG: Then the real adventure begins.  
>AT: i think i can hear more of them outside…<br>AT: i think i'm gonna have to break out my throwing knives…  
>CG: The bladekind specibus encompasses more than just knives, you know.<br>CG: You'll probably be better off with a sword—you aren't going to last very long on just a knife.  
>AT: i like knives. lighter and faster than full swords. and this isn't just any knife; it's a bowie. besides, i don't feel like ha<br>AT: FUCK

* * *

><p>I actually let out a yelp of surprise when I turned around to see what had caused the loud <em>THUMP<em>. Something had dropped onto the ground, that much was obvious, but when I actually saw what it was…

I was looking at a corpse. Someone or something had opened my window and dumped a corpse into my bedroom. It was wearing what looked like extremely fancy golden-yellow pajamas, with the symbol of a golden crescent moon on the chest. The corpse's top was stained a sanguine red with blood, as well as the neck and shoulders. Its throat had been slit. But the reason for my scream was when I saw its face.

Short, wavy black hair, straight nose…eyes with red irises.

I was looking at myself.

My stomach twisted itself into a knot, and I stumbled out of my bedroom and into the bathroom…only to come face-to-face with two more of the imp creatures. This was bad; I had a stomach full of bile on the way, and two bloodthirsty creatures in the same room as the toilet. I'd just have to take care of them quickly.

I sprinted forward, tackling the first imp by launching myself into its midsection football-style. I quickly thrust my knife into its torso three consecutive times, causing it to burst apart into a pile of blue build grist, which I 'absorbed' into my grist cache.

The second imp actually managed to score a hit, swiping me across the back with its claws. I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, but did not give any other reaction to the pain. I've been getting sliced and diced by my Sis for years—a little scratch from an imp wasn't very much in comparison. Still…there was something about the sudden pain that triggered a strange feeling within me…

I spun around and raised my hand, thrusting forward. The imp went flying across the room and slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a sizeable dent. The impact alone was enough to reduce it to a pile of grist. That was when I looked down and realized that after I had raised my hand, I had not moved a muscle. The imp flew into the wall with enough force to kill it, but I hadn't even actually _touched_ it.

Before I could wonder how the hell I'd managed to do that, my stomach started its little rebellion. I ripped open the toilet and sank to my knees, heaving my guts out into the toilet bowl. I hadn't eaten much, lately, so there was not a lot of puke. Mostly bile, and such, and lots of dry heaving.

Once I'd thrown up just about everything except my pancreas, I straightened up and pulled myself over to the sink, taking a mouthful of water and swishing it around, cleaning out my mouth. I then brushed my teeth, subconsciously wondering to myself how my house still had plumbing and electricity, but certainly not complaining about it.

Unpleasant as throwing up may be, I usually always felt right as rain afterwards. However, the grisly sight of my murdered…I don't even know what…kept on coming back to me. I took several deep breaths, sinking down to the floor, resting my back against the closed bathroom door. Without looking down, I fumbled through my pockets for my iphone.

I logged into PalHassle, bringing up my unfinished conversation with Cass.

* * *

><p>CG: What?<br>CG: Hello?  
>CG: What happened?<br>CG: Are you alright?  
>AT: alright, i'm back…<br>AT: um…  
>CG: What the hell was that?<br>AT: there's a dead body in my room.  
>AT: there is a dead<br>AT: fucking  
>AT: body<br>AT: in my room.  
>CG: ?<br>AT: there is a dead body lying on my floor.  
>AT: and <span>i'm<span> the corpse.  
>AT: it's me.<br>AT: i'm kinda freaking the fuck out right now.  
>CG: I'm still kind of lost, here.<br>AT: just…  
>AT: okay hold on, i'll send you a pic from my phone…<br>AT: …okay, i sent you a pix message…  
>AT: i'm sorry, i just…<br>AT: i really don't like looking at it.  
>CG: I just saw the pic…<br>CG: Um…  
>CG: Someone's killed your dream self.<br>AT: really? what gave it away?  
>AT: for me, it was the sliced-open throat that gave it the fuck away.<br>CG: I'm sorry.  
>CG: I don't exactly see dead bodies every day. Seeing a dead version of you is kind of unnerving, okay?<br>AT: you're preaching to the choir…  
>CG: Alright, uh…<br>CG: Look, I have to go for a little while.  
>CG: Need to start gathering some grist of my own so you can build up my house.<br>CG: So make sure you prototype your sprite again.  
>CG: I'll text you when I have enough grist for you to build me up to my first gate.<br>AT: okay…  
>AT: okay, i'll just drag my own corpse downstairs, then…<br>AT: don't mind me.  
>CG: I'll talk to you later!<br>AT: yeah.

_-certifiedGoddess is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>I slipped my iphone into my pocket, taking a moment to rub my forehead. My bedroom was starting to smell like blood, now. This was unacceptable—I would have to get my dream self's corpse outside. If I had the chance, I'd probably grab a shovel from the garage and bury it.<p>

"Oh, fuck…" I started swearing quietly to myself as I stepped over to the dead body. Trying to avoid looking at the corpse, I grasped it under the arms, lifting its upper body up and dragging it out of my room. I backed out into the hallway, making my way towards the stairs. It probably would have been easier to throw the body over my shoulder…but, I mean… I just couldn't handle it.

First my school gets blown up by a meteor, then my hometown and possibly the rest of the fucking world gets destroyed, then I barely escape getting atomized, only to have to share a room with my own dead body. Okay, not _my_ dead body, it was my dream self…but my dream self and I are, for all intents and purposes, the same person.

Hell, now I'm rambling. Too much shit. There's just been too much shit…and I can't deal with it. I haven't had the chance to really think about everything that's been happening. I've just been swinging like fucking Tarzan from one problem to the next, one vine to the next, with no time in between. This was for the best, I suppose…

I shook my head once, dragging my mind back to the present. I reached the stairs and took one step down…right into a waiting imp. I let out a startled yell as I felt claws tear into my back. There was a sharp screech from somewhere downstairs. My sprite had no doubt heard all the ruckus, and wanted to see what was happening. That was all I needed…

I retrieved my Bowie knife from my strife specibus and tried to take the imp down right there, but I was in an incredibly awkward position—striking downwards, behind myself, while holding up a dead body. To make matters worse, the imp managed to dodge my strike and lunge forward, sinking its sharp teeth into one of my legs.

That did it. My legs folded up and I pitched backward, landing on the lower steps with my shoulder, tumbling head-over-heels along with the imp down towards the bottom of the stairs. I hit the bottom first, slamming into the wall on the other side of the landing. The imp leaped into the air after me, teeth dripping with saliva, claws outstretched. I was already retrieving my Bowie knife from its strife specibus, holding it ready.

I held out my free hand and, timing everything very carefully, managed to grab the imp by the throat as it landed on top of me, plunging the blade once into the creature's chest, and then through its neck. The creature dissolved into a shower of build grist, which was instantly transported into my grist cache.

What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion. I'd dropped the corpse of my dream self at the top of the stairs when the imp had bitten me, and it had been resting precariously at the edge of the top step. When I slammed into the wall, it was enough to send the dead body tumbling down the stairs after me. I dropped my knife and raised my arms to protect my face...but the impact never came.

With one last screech, the eagle-prototyped sprite reached the stairs, swooping right in front of me just as my dream self's corpse hit the bottom. The corpse and the sprite collided, and there was a sudden flash of blindingly bright reddish-white light. I screwed my eyes shut, pressing my hands to my face. If I'd known how bright the flash of light would have been, I'd have looked away.

When the light subsided, I opened my eyes slowly, picking myself up off the floor. My dead dream self had vanished, but the sprite…

The Sprite opened his eyes as well, a look of utter and absolute horror twisting his face as he looked down at himself. "_No_…" the Sprite muttered.

I stared at the Sprite with a mixture of fascination and discomfort. From the chest-up…the Sprite was _me,_ despite being composed of glowing red energy. It had my face, my neck, shoulders, arms…but then it all morphed into the feathered body of an eagle, and then into the bottom wisp of the Sprite, composed entirely of energy. I could see glowing red wings bristling from the Sprite's back.

"Uh…" I didn't really know what to say to my sprite-ified dream self. But even before I got the chance to think of anything, the Sprite screamed at me.

"_Shut up!_" the Sprite shouted. "Don't you _dare_ tell me those memories aren't mine! I'm a real person, you hear me? _I'm a real fucking person!_ I have a _name!_"

"Dude…you're me," I said to the Sprite. "You're just my dream self-"

The only warning I had was a twitch in the Sprite's right hand before the softly-glowing, red, eagle-fied, undead Dream Me lunged. In its grasp was a large bowie knife—an identical clone of the knife I owned, only it, too, was composed of the same energy that formed the Sprite's body.

Just because it was composed of energy, however, did not make it any less solid—I raised my own knife in defense and was surprised when the red, light-like blade clashed with my own, knocking my knife aside. I gasped as the Sprite's knife sliced across my cheek.

The Sprite struck at me several more times, and I found myself fighting quite desperately to block its attacks. The attacks were fueled by such a fiery rage…despite the fact that the Sprite seemed to be trying to kill me, it was very disconcerting to see that rage coming…well, from _me_. I don't think I've ever felt that angry in all my life.

Finally, the Sprite let out another yell and flew past me, across the front hall, through the living room, and crashing out through the living room's bay windows. I picked myself back up off the floor and staggered into the living room. I looked out through the shattered window, watching the Sprite soar up and away, vanishing into the violet clouds.

I moved over to the sofa and sat down, resting my head all the way back and taking several deep breaths. I could chalk this up as just another thing that's blown up in my face. Eagle sculpture falls into sprite, I have an unhelpful guide. A version of me falls into the sprite, you'd think I'd get the most helpful guide in the universe?

Of course not.

I did not get the chance to rest. After about half a minute, I heard another window shatter, followed by the skittering of a handful of imps. Then there was a much louder crash…and much louder, heavier footsteps. Something was growling, and it definitely wasn't an imp.

I sprang up from the couch and sprinted back upstairs, returning to my bedroom. There was something bigger coming my way, and I was beginning to think Cass had been right, earlier. I was not going to switch to a sword…but if I'd have to make some improvements if I wanted to continue using my knife.

It was time to pay a visit to the alchemiter.


	8. II Chapter 8: Alchemize

Chapter Eight: Alchemize

I could feel the blood spattering my shirt as I buried my knife into the ogre's mouth, driving it out through the back of its skull. The underling gurgled for a moment, choking on its own blood, before collapsing into a large pile of grist. There was blue build grist, as well as several of the other variants…shale, tar, and maybe mercury, or some other substance.

I tried to use the alchemiter to create new weapons that would be better suited to my needs than a simple Bowie knife, but I quickly realized that I needed more punched cards and more of the different kinds of grist…as well as a few captchalogue codes that I did not possess.

But I had an idea of how I could acquire them.

In the meantime, I had to get back to a defensible place before I was completely overrun by these goddamn imps. The imps had all seemed to rally behind the ogre underling that I'd just killed, completely storming my front and backyard. Even now, they were swarming into my house. I collected all of the grist dropped by the ogre, sending it into my grist cache for Cruz to build up my house with.

I sprinted out of the kitchen and back onto the stairs. An imp waited for me about halfway up, but I blew right past it, driving an elbow into the side of its face. The blow did not kill the imp, but it certainly dazed it. It was not able to injure me as I sprinted past. The sound of dozens of imps forcing their way inside spurring me on, I reached the top of the stairs, kicked a second imp out of the way, and ducked into my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

I could hear the underlings swarming around downstairs—making a complete mess of the kitchen, no doubt—and there were a few who were starting to explore the upstairs. Before long, there was scratching and banging coming from the other side of the bedroom door. My door was pretty sturdy, but if it was subjected to a beating by a swarm of bloodthirsty little shits…well, that's why I needed to get some weapon upgrades.

I sank down into my rolley-chair, opening itunes and playing some Hans Zimmer. I chose something from the soundtrack of _The Last Samurai_—that was one of Zimmer's more peaceful-sounding works. For a moment, it occurred to me that if the world had actually ended, then that would mean Hans Zimmer was dead… I shook my head frantically, banishing those thoughts.

"_Not thinking about home, not thinking about home, not thinking about home…_" I repeated to myself. I couldn't afford to have any kind of breakdown now; not with monsters quite literally knocking on my door. I closed my eyes, let the music calm me down. I really did like this particular soundtrack—I'd read somewhere that, while composing the soundtrack, Hans Zimmer thought he was doing a terrible job trying to understand Japanese music. But when he ended up taking his work to Japan for feedback, he was actually asked how he knew so _much_ about Japanese music.

Because he's a fucking God of all things Awesome, _that's_ how he knew so much about Japanese music.

But I digress.

I opened up the internet and checked my facebook, but the website was dead. No updates at all, from anyone, past five o'clock. I checked the time at the bottom corner of my computer…but the clock was reading all zeros. My cellphone clock was similarly neutralized. I had no way of telling time. But I was still pretty sure it was long past five. How could Facebook be inactive for that long? Maybe the world _had_ ended…

_Not thinking about home, not thinking about home…_

I closed out of the internet and went back into PasHassle, checking to see if Tami was on. She was not, at the moment, but someone else was.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling conquistadorsAshes-<em>

AT: hey  
>AT: cruz<br>AT: you there?  
>CA: yeah bro im so here<br>CA: im like  
>CA: the here-est of them all<br>CA: …  
>CA: heh<br>AT: are you…?  
>AT: fuck it, never mind.<br>AT: you get into the session yet?  
>AT: the medium<br>AT: whatever the hell cass called it; you get in?  
>CA: ya bro<br>CA: i got in  
>CA: went all kevin flynn on this motherfucker<br>CA: got me a sprite and everything  
>AT: yes, wonderful.<br>AT: you know what you're supposed to do?  
>AT: you're supposed to build up my house to the first gate?<br>CA: yeah bro i got you  
>CA: i just gotta go make these imps chillax aight<br>AT: you know anything about sprites, dude?  
>AT: i mean, you seem to know a lot about this game, already…<br>CA: yeah man i know shit about the sprites  
>CA: question is<br>CA: what do u know about the sprites  
>AT: …well, obviously not enough, if i'm asking you something about them.<br>AT: i spoke with cass  
>CA: o yea bro did u guys go on ur date<br>CA: the one theo set up for u saturday nite  
>CA: howd that go<br>AT: the world blew up, cruz; we didn't get the chance.  
>AT: <span>anyway<span>…  
>AT: i speak with Cass, and she tells me to prototype my sprite with something living or previously alive;<br>AT: something reasonably sentient, mind you.  
>AT: and my murdered dream self, minus an intact throat, is suddenly dumped into my bedroom.<br>CA: whoa man hit the brakes for a sec  
>CA: whats this about ur murdered dream self<br>CA: ur dream self is fine bro  
>CA: i just saw it a minute ago in ur dream tower<br>CA: sleepin like a fuckin baby  
>AT: how could you see it a minute ago? you were sleeping a minute ago?<br>CA: naw man  
>CA: i find myself on prospit sometimes if i smoke too much<br>CA: …  
>CA: i think i smoked a bowl too many this afternoon<br>CA: haha which reminds me  
>CA: i saw u in the clouds again u fuckin angel<br>CA: u were a fuckin angel dude hahahaha  
>CA: so fuckin weird<br>AT: yeah, about that…  
>AT: and wait, why the fuck are you looking at my sleeping dream self?<br>AT: actually, fuck it.  
>AT: never mind.<br>AT: as i was saying, shenanigans happen, and my dead dream self ends up prototyped with the eaglesprite—it'd already been merged with my roman eagle sculpture.  
>AT: my dream self was definitely sentient, definitely 'previously-alive', just like cass wanted.<br>AT: and it tries to fucking murder me when all i do is speak two words to it.  
>AT: and my sprite, it still has the wings.<br>AT: and feathers. it has fucking feathers, too.  
>AT: there is a glowing red sprite-version of me combined with an eagle rampaging around somewhere.<br>AT: there is your fucking angel that you see in prospit's clouds.  
>AT: my fucked-up spriteeagle clone.  
>CA: naw dude prospit dont have any clouds<br>CA: those are skaian clouds dude from skaia  
>CA: and when i saw u in the clouds u werent glowin red dude<br>CA: and ur dream self aint fuckin dead either so  
>CA: i dunno what u want me to say<br>AT: i dunno… i guess i was only curious as to why prototyping my dream self would create a psycho.  
>AT: well, it doesn't really matter at this point, now, does it?<br>AT: oh, shit, gotta go.  
>AT: tami just signed on and i've been meaning to talk to her.<br>AT: oh, i almost forgot. can you do me a favor?  
>CA: yeah bro what do ya need<br>AT: i just need you to deploy the punch designix from the phernalia registry.  
>AT: put it somewhere upstairs, preferably.<br>AT: and move the cruxtruder upstairs, too.  
>CA: aight i have it…<br>CA: uh…  
>CA: ok i just set it down on the balcony outside ur window<br>AT: can you build a bridge from my window to the balcony, real quick?  
>CA: already done<br>AT: whoa, what the hell was that?  
>CA: sorry dude i just made ur roof flat<br>CA: made a bit more noise than i thought it would  
>CA: ok i just put the cruxtruder down on the roof<br>CA: here ill make u a ladder  
>CA: there we are<br>AT: great, cruz, thanks a bunch.  
>CA: aight bro later<br>CA: ill start building ur house once i deal with these imps

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling conquistadorsAshes-_

* * *

><p>It startled me slightly when Cruz made the ladder. Everything was normal, and then suddenly <em><strong>BOOM!<strong>_ A ladder appeared next to my bed, leading up through the ceiling. Cruz had been nice enough to build a hatch, as well, so that the rain wouldn't fall right into my room.

I scrolled down to my friend Tami's screen name. I double-clicked on it, starting a new conversation.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling tchaikovskysAccompanist-<em>

AT: hey, tam.  
>AT: you there?<br>TA: Do u really have 2 ask that every time u start a convo on here?  
>TA: I'm logged in, rn't I? Unlike u, when it says I'm logged in, I'm actually <span>on<span> my computer.  
>TA: There a reason y ure interrupting me?<br>AT: good, i was afraid you were going to be in another one of your moods.  
>AT: i need you to draw up a few captchalogue codes, if you have the chance.<br>TA: And by 'if u have the chance', u mean right now?  
>AT: well… yeah.<br>AT: normally i wouldn't press you, but there's kind of…you know…  
>AT: a mob of monsters swarming into my house, with sharp claws and teeth, who just so happen to want a bite of me.<br>AT: several bites, rather.  
>AT: i need to make a few weapon upgrades.<br>TA: Y don't u just get the Pictionary Modus and draw shit urself?  
>TA: I've got my own problems here, 2, u know.<br>AT: i tried that a while ago.  
>AT: anything i drew on that thing ended up being read as a fucking pumpkin.<br>AT: except for when i try to draw a knife—then i end up with some stupid blue piece of shit that looks like a three-dimensional jpeg.  
>AT: not everyone has your art skills.<br>TA: not everyone has ur incompetence skills, either.  
>AT: …so that's a yes?<br>TA: Yeah, ok, I'll do it. Gimme a sec…  
>TA: Ok, I'm back. Goddamn basilisk swiped me and ripped up my fav shirt.<br>TA: Some of the basilisks have wings, now. Some dumbshit must have prototyped a fucking bird.  
>AT: well, dragons have wings, too…<br>TA: Alright, I found that modus. What do u need?  
>AT: uh…okay. okay, can you draw a gladius for me? you know, the roman sword?<br>AT: and a lightsaber.  
>TA: U know what? i just realized that i actually don't feel like doing all that.<br>TA: U have a printer in ur room, right?  
>AT: um…yeah.<br>TA: Ok, here's what ure gonna do. Captchalogue ur printer and send me the code.  
>TA: And don't ask any dumb questions.<br>AT: what's a dumb question?  
>TA: …<br>AT: okay, here's my printer's code; Ch27fFN0.  
>TA: Right, thanks. Now give me another sec…<br>TA: OK.  
>TA: cg6fOj19<br>TA: This code is ur printer combined w/ my Pictionary Modus.  
>TA: U can scan pictures of objects into ur computer, and it'll create a captchalogue file.<br>TA: Exactly like a ghost captchalogue card, only in digital form.  
>TA: U can't use this file for alchemy, but u <span>can<span> use it to extract the captchalogue code.  
>TA: Take the code 2 the punch designix with a blank card, get a punched card…and u know the rest.<br>AT: good thing i keep every blank card i've ever gotten. my sis would give me piles of the things…  
>TA: The thing works through the scanner. U'll have 2 print out a picture of an object and scan it 2 make it work.<br>TA: Kinda inconvenient, but it is the way it is.  
>TA: If there's a way 2 convert something to a captchalogue file wo having to print it out, I haven't figured it out yet.  
>AT: alrighty.<br>AT: thanks, tam.  
>TA: Yeah.<p>

_-tchaikovskysAccompanist is no longer hassling anomalousThespian-_

* * *

><p>I closed out of PalHassle and stood up, stepping over to the ladder that Cruz had made. I grasped the rungs and pulled myself up to the ceiling, where I pushed open the hatchway and crawled up through what was left of the attic. Cruz had indeed made my roof flat…he'd done it by shearing <em>off<em> most of the roof and replacing it with a flat surface. While it was certainly easier to set the cruxtruder down on top of this surface, a consequence of the roof's flattening was that the attic was barely two feet high.

I climbed out onto the roof, into the light rain. The cruxtruder sat not too far from the opening. I hurried over to the machine and manipulated the little wheel set into the side. As I turned it, a cruxite dowel was pushed out of the cylindrical shaft. I took the dowel and continued to turn the wheel, extracting a second cylinder of cruxite.

I pulled five dowels from the cruxtruder. I was considering extracting a sixth, but as I grabbed the wheel again, I sensed movement from up above. I glanced up just in time to see a flash of sharp teeth and beating wings before claws suddenly tore into the back of my shoulder. I threw myself to the ground, swearing at the top of my lungs.

"Stop! Fucking! _SCRATCHING ME!_" I roared. I've been getting sliced up by my Sis since I could stand—I had more than my fair share of scars to prove it—I did _not_ need the same treatment from these little shits. "C'mere, asshole! _Come the fuck back here!_"

The creature that had scratched me obliged. It was a snake-like…well, it had a snake-like body, but it also had arms and feet, like a lizard. It had a reptilian head and a wide grin, filled with glistening teeth. It also had wings that sprouted from its back, which was what enabled it to fly. This must have been one of those flying basilisks Tami had mentioned.

I was pissed. Pissed at getting cut up yet again, and pissed at losing another shirt. And when I was pissed, I fought twice as hard.

I stepped to the side as the basilisk came swooping down for me, waiting for the right moment to strike. When that moment came, my free hand shot forward and grabbed the basilisk's tail. I yanked the surprised monster back and slammed it down into the ground. In an instant, I was jumping on top of it. I didn't hit the ground after a few seconds of falling, curiously…but I ignored that oddity as I landed on top of the basilisk, extracting my Bowie from my strife specibus and driving it up through the basilisk's mouth and out the top of its skull.

The basilisk made a discomforting gurgling sound for a moment before it was rendered down into grist, which I promptly sent into my cache. As I rose back to my feet, however… I noticed something terribly out of place: I was no longer on the roof. I was on the floor of the attic.

I stood all the way up, getting my bearings back, climbing back out onto the roof. There was a big hole in the roof, now… _I'd_ created it. Somehow, I'd managed to slam that basilisk into the roof so hard that it punched right through to the attic below. Maybe Cruz's manipulation of the roof had weakened it, but… I mean, there's no way I should have been able to do that.

"_Your aspect is manifesting_."

I recognized that voice. God damn it, I _recognized_ that voice. My gaze snapped over to the hole in the roof, where the voice had come from, and my breath caught in my throat as I beheld the shape of the Phantom. The dark, shadowy figure, crouched in the small attic space, just near the hole in the roof, just far enough away from the daylight that I could not see its face or body in detail.

I've been seeing this figure in my periphery vision my whole life, but this…this was the first time it had ever spoken to me. I've seen its face on occasion, but it's never spoken to me, before… And, just like its face, its voice was maddeningly familiar…but I was never able to realize who it was. It was almost like someone had put a block in my mind, specifically so that I never be able to see the Phantom for who or what it really was.

I took a step toward the hole in the roof, but the Phantom was already gone, vanished into thin air. Another wave of frustration surged up within me, but I took a deep breath and suppressed it. Before any more flying basilisks could show up, I quickly rolled all of the cruxite dowels over to the hatch and dropped them down into my room below, climbing down the ladder and closing the hatchway after I was finished.

Half my shirt was hanging down in ribbons, thanks to the basilisk's little swipe.

My hospital gown had been falling apart after my first few brushes with the imps, so I'd quickly changed before anything embarrassing happened. I'd accidentally put on my stage crew shirt—the black one with the skull and crossbones on the front, and the word CREW on the back. That was the shirt that gave me visions of myself being burnt alive…yeah, there was no way I was going to wear that shirt, so I changed into a regular t-shirt, and now it was shredded, so I was going to have to grab _another_ one…

I was going to run out of shirts, at this rate.

The first shirt I grabbed was my stage crew shirt, once again, and I nearly had it over my head before I realized which shirt it was. I tossed it back into the drawer and quickly threw another one on. Now that I had the cruxite dowels, I got back onto my computer and opened up the internet, going to google images.

The first thing I looked up was a gladius—the short sword used by Roman legionaries, back in the day. I right clicked the image and saved it as a jpeg. I then looked up a lightsaber and saved the image of a red blade. I'm no fan of the Sith—I've always gone light-side when I play Knights of the Old Republic—but I _did_ like red lightsabers better than green or blue ones.

I printed out a picture of the gladius, and then of the lightsaber. I then placed the picture of the gladius into the scanner and activated the device. There was a pause, and a window popped up with two options for me to click—captchalogue, or document. I clicked captchalogue, and the scanner glowed with a bright green light for a few moments before going out.

I opened up My Computer and dug through the downloads folder until I found the captchalogue file for the gladius. I right-clicked it and selected the only option that appeared, which read 'extract code'.

After another short wait, a Notepad document opened up, bearing eight numbers and letters—both upper and lower-case. A captchalogue code. I repeated the process with the picture of the red lightsaber and got the second code, as well. I then wrote both codes down on the back of one of the printed pieces of paper, pulled a pair of blank captchalogue cards from my wallet sylladex, and headed over to my window.

I opened the window and climbed outside, taking a brief moment to stare at the reality-defying rivers of my planet that arced all throughout the skies. Cruz had extended a small portion of the balcony over to the wall which my window was a part of, forming a small bridge. There were no safety rails, or anything, so I just had to make sure I wasn't drunk while crossing.

I made it to the balcony and went over to the punch designix, inserting a card into the slot. I glanced back at the piece of paper and entered the gladius's captchalogue code into the machine. There was a loud mechanical whir, followed by a series of noises that sounded like a hole-punch. When I pulled the card out, it had the image of a gladius imprinted upon it, as well as several precise, rectangular holes, punched through the image.

The second card went through the same process before it, too, got punched with the code of the red lightsaber. I then made a captchalogue of my Bowie knife and punched that, too. I then combined all three and took them over to the totem lathe, which was back in my bedroom. I placed the three overlapped cards into the card slot and secured one of the cruxite dowels in the lathe's vice. I activated the machine and waited for the lathe to finish carving the dowel that would create my composite item.

Once the totem lathe had finished its work, I grabbed the cruxite dowel and carried it back outside to the alchemiter, where I placed it on the small scanning pedestal. I must have had enough of the right kinds of grist, for the alchemiter's mechanical arm scanned the carved totem and started to hum. Within the next few seconds, there was a bright flash of light, and an object had materialized on the alchemiter's platform.

It looked like an enlarged version of my Bowie knife. It had the hilt of a Roman gladius, but there was a modern rubber grip around the hilt as well, making it much more comfortable to hold. The blade was a bit straighter, longer, and much sharper—qualities added to the knife by the properties of the gladius with which it had been combined. Oh, and the blade was also composed not of metal, but of bright, shimmering red energy…much like a lightsaber.

After I picked it up, I found that the energy blade could be deactivated with a squeeze to the handle, revealing a normal metal blade underneath.

"Hell…fucking…_yes,_" I muttered to myself, sending it into my strife specibus. I climbed back into my bedroom and closed the window, sitting back down at the computer. I opened up my Sburb server, getting a good look at Cass's house. I checked her grist cache, and found that she had already amassed a good amount of build grist. I didn't see her, but I wasn't looking all through the house for her, either. I just zoomed out so I could see her room.

I used the revise tool to create a series of floors, walls, and stairs, essentially placing another house on top of Cass's roof. Though I only needed to ensure that Cass could ascend, I ended up extending her house because it provided a very stable foundation for that ascent. Much more stability than what would be provided by a lone staircase or latter, stretching all the way up into the clouds.

I then clicked the Select tool, and I used the shift key to select everything I'd just created over Cass's house…and I copy and pasted it. This put a third extension over the house—exactly identical to the one below it, tripling the height of her house. The staircases matched up, so Cass could ascend all the way to the top unhindered. I pasted three more of these extensions before running out of build grist.

I'd leave it at that until Cass was able to gather more.

I turned my attention next to my bedroom door, which was still taking a light beating from the imps piled up on the other side. I took a deep breath as I retrieved my Roman light-Bowie—I decided to just call it the Roman, for simplicity's sake—from my bladekind specibus. As I held it, I could feel how the larger hilt of this modified knife, along with the blade's new weight, allowed for efficient two-handed usage. But it still worked perfectly as a one-handed weapon, which I preferred. I just knew that I could take a stronger, two-handed grip on the weapon if I ever needed to.

Hell. Yes.

I started forward. I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, yanked open the door. Four imps who had been piled against the door immediately flew right at me. I struck, grinning as I felt the red energy blade pass effortlessly through one of the creatures' bodies. As I took down the first wave of imps, one by one, I noted that the red energy blade was growing dimmer, more and more transparent, every time I used it. If I continued to use it without pause, it looked like it would eventually fade to nothing, until given the time to recharge.

There were nine or ten imps upstairs already when I opened the door, and by the time I was finished with the last of them, the Roman's energy blade still had a good amount of charge left. It would take a lot more than a group of imps to drain it completely. Even so, I squeezed the grip and disabled the energy blade, leaving me with the metal one underneath. I felt like seeing what the Roman could do _without_ its energy-glove.

I made my way downstairs, dispatching another imp about a third of the way down the staircase. I was then swooped at by another one of those winged basilisks, but I activated the energy blade and managed to slice one of the basilisk's wings off, sending it tumbling to the floor.

Switching the blade back off, I cleaned up the downed basilisk with a quick thrust to the back of its neck, up into its skull. I then hopped off the stairs, and…well, I kinda went to town on everything. After slicing open the first three or four imps, I kind of just let my body go on autopilot. When I thought back on how I'd charged through every room in my house, brutally and efficiently murdering entire groups of those imps…it all just felt like kind of a blur. Luckily, I didn't encounter any more of those ogres during my reclamation of the house—just imps. That made it extremely easy. By the time I was done, there were piles of grist scattered all over my house. I spent a few minutes scouring the rooms, finding all the grist that had been dropped and sending it into my cache.

I then headed back upstairs and quickly pasted another two extensions onto Cass's house, then I ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I got out some Neosporin, and I put a dab of it on my cheek—right where my Sprite had cut me. I then applied some more to the numerous scratches and the bite I'd received from those imps early on, and the swipe from that flying basilisk up on the roof. Once everything dried up, I put my shirt back on and stepped out into the hall.

I was only halfway down the upstairs hall to my room when the entire house gave a sudden tremor. I hurried into my room and ducked out through my window, investigating that loud noise. I saw a staircase appear out of nowhere, extending from the side of the balcony and up to…the front door. There was another front door up on the roof, set into a wall, with windows… It was like someone had duplicated my house, then placed the duplicate on _top_ of the original.

Even as I watched, a third house appeared in mid-air and was guided onto the roof of the second one. Cruz was doing exactly what I had done with Cass's house—he built a duplicate of my house on the roof, then he copied and pasted it. I'd gotten enough grist for my house to just about reach the three-quarters point from the ground up to the first gate.

That was no problem, though. I'd only cleared out my house—there were imps still swarming around out in the yard, with more of them arriving every minute. It wouldn't be long before they attacked my house again. Then I would get all the grist I needed.

I returned to the bathroom and grabbed my deodorant, dealing with my underarms, and then I brushed my teeth. After I finished my teeth, I swished Listerine around my mouth until it felt like I was breathing ice. Newly invigorated, I went back to my computer, opened up itunes, and started blasting some Franz Ferdinand. I jumped up and down a few times as the imps skittered back into my house below, getting myself pumped up. I retrieved the Roman from my strife specibus, tightening my grip on its handle.

As I left my bedroom and moved toward the stairs, I started to hum along with the music playing from my computer.

"_So if you're lonely… You know I'm here waiting for you. I'm just a cross-hair…_"


	9. II Chapter 9: Ascend

Chapter Nine: Ascend

I woke up with my customary loud, lengthy yawn, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. I hopped out of bed and stretched, trudging over to my window. I looked out over the golden streets of Prospit's moon, where I lived in one of the four towers.

I picked up my Bowie knife…although I could see that it had been heavily altered. It was longer, and its grip had changed, making it resemble a slightly smaller version of a Roman gladius. When I squeezed the grip, the blade suddenly shined with a bright red radiance, and that was when I remembered how I'd gotten this strange weapon—I'd used the alchemy machines to combine the properties of my Bowie with a Roman gladius, and a red lightsaber.

I'd done it all in a dream, but apparently some things I did in my dreams could carry over to the waking world. Or rather, some things I did in the waking world could carry over to the _dream_ world… For some reason, I found myself unsure of whether or not I was dreaming at this very moment. Every time I fell asleep in one world, I woke up in another, until I fell asleep again and went back.

I mean, yeah, I know that at any given time either my waking self or my dream self was sleeping…but if all my dreaming entailed was a transfer of consciousness from one body to another…was I ever really dreaming? I felt just as awake on Prospit as I did as my waking self. Once I finally started waking up on the golden moon, it was like leading two separate, simultaneous lives—the only difference between then and now was that I was actually starting to remember my actions on Prospit. They no longer grew fuzzy with the onset of the day, like a normal dream would. In some ways, I even feel _more_ awake on Prospit than I do as my actual waking self. Talk about ironic.

That familiar feeling of jittery weightlessness filled me up, and I leaped out of my window, soaring up through the skies of the golden moon. I breathed in deep, allowing a grin to spread across my face. Sometimes I think that, had I the choice, I would opt to live on Prospit, with Earth being the place I go when I dream. I always felt so much more carefree, so…_happier,_ when I was my dream self. I mean, I'm not depressed or angry, or anything…but I rarely ever felt those surges of happiness and excitement that I felt all the time while I was dreaming.

"_Hey!_ Hey, over here, _amigo!_" a familiar voice called out to me.

I stopped in midair, twisting around to see Cruz flying towards me from his own tower. My friend looked even more blissful than me…which was pretty much normal—Cruz usually always had a smile on his face.

Cruz flew right into me, and we shared a quick embrace as his impact sent us both spinning out into space. Down below, groups of Prospitians on the golden streets were beginning to gather, watching us fly through the sky. Cruz and I let go of each other and got our bearings back, stopping our crazy, spinning descent, and righting ourselves back up.

"Dude, this is the first time we've been awake here together since when we first met, all those years ago!" Cruz exclaimed. "God damn, I've waited for you to wake up for too long! We need to get high and fly around the-"

"No, Cruz!" I cut my friend off. "No more getting high! You've smoked enough weed to put Jamaica out of business. Are you even awake here right now because you're asleep, or are you just stoned out of your mind?"

"Uh… Well, no, I'm not sleeping right now," Cruz replied as we started drifting downwards, flying slowly over the rooftops. "I'm kind of alternating between bodies right now, and it feels pretty weird."

"How are you not freaking the fuck out right now, dude?"

"I'm not what?" Cruz giggled.

"How are you not freaking the fuck right now?" I repeated myself.

Cruz just fixed me with his goofy smile and said, "No, I'm not."

"No, I'm asking you why—fuck it, never mind," I sighed, abandoning that latest attempt at a coherent conversation. "So where are we going?"

"Where are we going?"

"No, I'm asking _you_ where we're going."

"Oh, we're going to the Citadel, bro," Cruz announced cheerily. "It's the headquarters of the Home Guard detachment stationed here on the moon. It's where the commander of the Home Guard, the White Guardian, lives with his men. Or…well, whatever the carapacian equivalent of _men_ is."

"The White Guardian…" I murmured. "Is this guy taller than all the rest? Silver armor? One of those helmets that looks like it's from the 1500s?"

"Yeah, bro, that's what he wears! You met him already?"

"You could say that…" I muttered, rubbing a tender spot on my head. "It was yesterday, when I was unconscious in the hospital after the high school got obliterated, I found myself on Prospit, but I felt so much more awake, this time…"

"Your dream self is fully awakened when you face things you have never faced before," Cruz actually managed to sound like there was still an inkling of intelligent thought still flickering around his skull. "Downingtown East High School blowing the fuck up and having pretty much all of your classmates wiped out within a second…well, I don't think you've faced anything like that, before. I actually think that's what woke up Cass's dream self, come to think of it. She was with you."

"So anyway, I wake up here and head down to the streets, and all the nearby Prospitians start mobbing me like I'm some ridiculous movie star. Then this White Guardian guy shows up, spouts some bullshit about me needing to return to my waking self, and he fucking hits me over the head and knocks me out."

"Well you know why he did that, right?" Cruz glanced over at me. Before he could continue, we had to swerve around a particularly tall building to avoid smashing ourselves against it like flies on a windshield. "Knocking out your dream self forced you to wake back up in the hospital, which allowed you to make it back home in time to start the Sburb beta. You'd have never made it into the session alive, otherwise."

"…well, I guess…" I was somewhat reluctant to forgive that particular blow to the head…but I guess I couldn't really bitch about it, anymore.

"But yeah, the Queen's also visiting today, and she'll probably want to meet you!" Cruz finally got back to the original conversation. "We're kind of a big deal here, if you haven't noticed already."

Cruz and I continued to glide along, basking in Skaia's warmth, soaring across the rooftops of the city of the golden moon. I couldn't help but smile the rest of the way—every kid who's watched Peter Pan in their childhood has wanted to fly, and here I was…flying through a mystical city of gold. Cruz and I were both laughing once again by the time we reached the Citadel, right near the anchor of the Chain.

The Citadel looked like an old Russian castle, the kind with those weirdly-shaped, bulbous turrets. It stood atop a hill of golden grass with a commanding view of all the surrounding area. It was probably the tallest structure on the golden moon, apart from the four dream towers. A small yellow ship hung in the sky above the Citadel—the Queen's shuttle, I would assume.

Cruz and I landed on the large boulevard that ran up to the bottom of the Citadel's hill. There were many Prospitians gathered there, by now—some having already been on the boulevard at the time, many others having been following me from my dream tower.

More and more of the white carapacians poured out onto the boulevard as Cruz and I made our way towards the hill. They were all whispering to one another, always murmuring about knight and a sage. Remembering how the Prospitians had called me the Knight, last time I'd woken up here, I turned to Cruz and asked, "So you're the Sage?"

"Yeah, bro, I'm the Sage," Cruz nodded. "Sage of Space. That's me."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's what I am, bro! It's my role in this session. You have one, too!"

"Yeah, right, I'm the Knight, apparently," I nodded as we stepped through the gates and started climbing the hill of golden grass, making our way to the great front doors of the Citadel.

"Knight of what?" my friend asked me. "What's your Aspect?"

"My what?"

"Your Aspect, bro! Space is mine—Sage of Space, get it? And you are the Knight of…?"

When I saw that Cruz wanted me to finish his sentence, all I could give in reply was a shrug. "No fucking idea. Everyone is learning this shit from their sprites, dude, and my Sprite went psycho and tried to kill me, if you recall."

"_Mm_… Yeah, good point," Cruz hummed in agreement. "The only other ones who would probably know are your consorts, but I know you haven't reached your first gate."

_My first gate_…

A brief cascade of images jolted through my mind, but they were hazy and disjointed. Imps falling to my blade, winged basilisks divebombing me from above, and the stairs…I was always climbing, climbing towards a bright red light that hung in the sky overhead. A brief flash of beady eyes, tusks…a giant fist…

I turned back to my friend as we reached the entrance to the Citadel, stepping past the guards at the doors and into a wide, golden corridor adorned with Prospitian banners and giant windows. "Dude… Why did I wake up, here? I don't remember going to sleep…"

"Uh… You took a little hit to the face, bro," Cruz said to me. "I built your house the rest of the way up to your first gate, and…well, you ran into a little company."

"Wait, so am I just lying unconscious back in my house, which happens to be infested by monsters?"

"Be chill, dude, you're getting some help."

The Citadel was a large structure, full of almost countless halls and chambers. Cruz and I made our way to a main stair and ascended up to one of the higher levels. Cruz led me down another large hall and straight into what appeared to be a giant arboretum—a massive, open chamber filled with all kinds of trees and plantlife, with many small paths running through the space. We walked down these paths to the center of the arboretum, which was a large clearing with the adornments of a family room, or a den.

"The White Guardian comes to this place for relaxation, when he decides he needs some peace and quiet," Cruz explained to me. "I've only been here once before, the first time I woke up. I think I was five… Glad to see too much hasn't changed."

There were six carapacians currently in the center of the arboretum—four of them were standing, and they appeared to be guards of some sort. They wore silver armor and bore helmets that resembled those of the Spanish Conquistadors of ages past. The fifth, I recognized as the tall Prospitian whom I'd met during my last experience here, the one who'd put me to sleep by bashing me in the head with the hilt of a dagger. Like his subordinates, he was clad in silver armor, a large broadsword hanging from his hip. He was easily a head taller than all of the other guards, and his helmet bore a white plume.

As for the sixth… She was tall, slender, and obviously female…yet she looked quite different than all the other Prospitian females. There was an otherworldly beauty to her, as well as a radiance that made it almost difficult to look at her directly—it was as if her very flesh shined with Skaia's brilliance. Her eyes were dark as midnight, however…and I found that her eyes were very easy to gaze at, even though the rest of her was not.

"Is she the White Queen?" I asked Cruz as we stepped into the clearing.

"Yeah, bro, that's her."

The six Prospitians all turned toward us as we approached, and whatever conversation they'd been having fell silent. Cruz had been right—we _were_ a big deal here. The White Queen turned her gaze onto us, giving us a respectful nod, spreading her arms in greeting. "Welcome, my Heroes," she said to us.

I raised my hand in a bit of an awkward wave. "Uh…hi," I mumbled, not entirely sure what to say.

"Greetings to you, Sage," the Queen nodded to Cruz, who returned the gesture with a well-aimed finger gun. The White Queen then turned to me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And I have been looking forward to your awakening, my Knight. It gladdens me to meet you in the flesh."

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?" I finally asked. I wanted answers, and I sensed an opportunity to seize a few. "I'm no knight. What I am is a B-average high school student."

"There is a difference between what you are, and what you _think_ you are," the Queen smiled. "Soon, you will learn that difference. The Sage has graced me with many tales of your home. Earth, he calls it…such a strangely unimaginative name for a planet populated with Humans, who renown themselves for their creativity."

"Well, its real name is _Terra,_ if you want to be technical," I offered my own meager contribution to the conversation.

The Queen's eyes twitched, which I think was her equivalent of raising her eyebrows, which she did not have. "Is it now?"

"Terra's just Latin for 'Earth', bro," Cruz chuckled.

"Dude, since when do you know Latin?"

"_Quod sum deum, cunicule._"

I frowned at that, recognizing those words from my Latin I class from last year. "Did you just call me a rabbit?"

"No."

Thoughts of Latin reminded me of how we'd first gotten onto the subject… _Earth._ I turned back to the White Queen, who'd been watching the two of us go back and forth with some measure of amusement. "Earth… When I got here, there were meteors pounding the entire world, and… Is…is there anything left? Are we the last of our race?"

"The planet remains," the Queen assured me, "but I am afraid that the same cannot be said for its inhabitants. Linger here for a moment; I would have words with the both of you privately." The Queen took a second to exchange a few murmured words with the White Guardian and his subordinates, eventually dismissing them. The White Guardian gave me a look as he strode past, but the other guards remained blank-faced. When the Guardian and company had left the clearing, heading towards the arboretum's exit, the White Queen turned her attention back to us.

"I know what has happened with your sprite, my Knight—self-prototyping rarely leads to favorable outcomes, and in your case you have lost your most valuable source of knowledge. Therefore, I will impart to you what little help I can give, so you may be better prepared to accept your role," the Queen explained, deciding to ignore Cruz's yawn. "Since my earliest memories, I have always known that war would inevitably break out between my kingdom and Derse, the kingdom of darkness, where the dream avatars of the other four heroes reside. I have always known that my King is destined to lose this fight," I thought I heard a slight quaver in her voice, but she quickly regained her composure. "The Black King will kill my husband, and he will begin the Reckoning."

"Why bother fighting, if you know you are destined to lose?" I asked.

The Queen fixed me with a sad grin. "Derse may defeat the Army of Light on the Battlefield, but theirs is not the final victory of the war. The final victory, or defeat, will belong to the eight heroes of legend—the Thane of Breath, the Witch of Light, the Prince of Mind, the Muse of Life, the Sylph of Death, the Knight of Force, the Sage of Space, and the Seer of Time. If we do not fight the Black King, he will destroy Skaia without resistance before the heroes are ready to seize their victory. And so, we will fight, and we will fail…for you. Do not waste our sacrifice."

I was silent for a few moments, digesting the White Queen's words. That was some pretty heavy shit to just get laid down on me on the first meeting. I wanted some answers, and I certainly got them. "Knight of Force…" I murmured. "I'm assuming that's me?"

The Queen nodded. "Indeed, you are the Knight."

"Okay, but… I mean, I know I keep asking this, but…" I stopped stalling and looked back up to the Queen, meeting her gaze. "What the hell does it mean to be a…to be a Knight of Force?"

The Queen's sad grin widened into a warm smile, and she laid a hand on my shoulder. There was something about her touch that was very warm and soothing—some part of me actually tried to shy away from it, but I stood my ground, blinking several times. "If I were to tell you that, child, what meaning would your journey have? No, this is something you must discover on your own."

"I don't even know where to start."

The White Queen withdrew her hand and took a step back. "Start with your first gate, my Knight. And do not be too hasty in finding the second. Your planet has native inhabitants—there is much to be learned from them. You will ascend much more quickly with a little patience than you will with reckless abandon."

"Always a pleasure, your majesty," Cruz gave a little bow, allowing himself to rise up a little bit, hovering a foot or so above the floor.

The White Queen held up a finger. "Linger a moment more, my Sage, I have words for you yet."

"My bad," Cruz settled back down to the floor.

"There is another piece of knowledge that was granted to me," the Queen continued. "This Incipisphere is borne of a flawed universe, and so the Incipisphere itself is flawed. You will discover this on your own, eventually. But know this: this Incipisphere is flawed, but not infertile. Skaia made you a Sage of Space, and you a Knight of Force for a reason—the same goes for your other six companions. Together, you will be able to make our Incipisphere whole once more."

"What do we need to do? How can we do something like that?"

"It will take an act of Gods," the Queen replied. "But have faith in yourself. I hope this knowledge aids you in your quest. I fear I must return to my affairs, presently, but I will leave you with my blessing. Pass what you have learned here on to your companions. And just know that when it seems like there are no more paths to take…you may still be able to forge your own," the Queen added with a little smirk.

I frowned, not quite seeing the source of the White Queen's amusement. The Queen noticed my look of confusion and gave me a dismissive wave of the hand. "Just an amusing little play on words," she chuckled. "Even a Queen of Prospit needs to lighten the mood, every once in a while."

_Especially a Queen of Prospit_… I thought to myself.

"Now go forth," the Queen bid us farewell. "Be the Heroes you are destined to be. Skaia awaits you."

Cruz and I took our leave. Rather than walk back out the door, we just flew up to one of the windows, pushed it open, and soared back out into the open sky over the golden moon. We flew away from the Citadel, leaving the great Golden Chain behind, basking in Skaia's warmth.

"Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Cruz asked me.

I glanced over at my friend. "Hm?"

"I mean, the Prospitians have that hard white carapace instead of skin, right?" Cruz explained himself.

"Yeah, so?"

"Kinda makes you wonder what her boobs feel like."

"…dude, go smoke another joint."

* * *

><p>I could feel the pain all over my body even before I fully regained my senses. It was like a dull roar, at first, muffled by the veil of unconsciousness, gradually intensifying into waves of simmering pain, pain which exploded every time I tried to move.<p>

There were sounds of a fight very close by. Grunts of exertion, animalistic growls and howls, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a blade passing through flesh and bone. I wasn't quite sure how I recognized that sound so easily—yeah, I've strifed with my Sis more times than I can count, but we've never actually _maimed_ each other. I've never killed a single thing with my bladekind specibus until the underlings started attacking me after my arrival.

I cracked open my eyes, staring up into the sky of violet clouds, blinking as a drop of rain fell into my left eye. I moved to sit up, but quickly laid my head back down when the pain threatened to knock me back unconscious. I was lying on the ground…outside, obviously, for I felt grass underneath me. As I looked up into the sky, I saw the tops of tall trees to my left, and the towering structure of my mutated house rising up into the sky to my right. I was in my front yard…

It all came back to me in flashes—the top of my house, the two ogres…the giant blow I took to the face, sending me plummeting over the edge of the roof. That would certainly explain why I had my most recent dream on Prospit… I seemed to recall Cruz telling me that I'd taken a little hit to the face—he kind of left out the whole falling off the roof part.

It occurred to me that I'd just fallen easily a couple hundred feet, and I didn't even have a single broken bone. I remembered that pretty much the same thing had happened when I'd been thrown by the explosion of that meteor obliterating the high school—I'd landed hard, but no broken bones. Not even any fractures. This was unnatural.

I turned my head slowly to the left, trying to see where the sounds of fighting were coming from. As I did so, I noted that practically the entire front yard was covered with piles of grist. Dozens of underlings had died here, and dozens more were swarming across the yard, trying to get at me while I was down…but they were met by a winged figure composed of brilliant red energy, and sliced to pieces by a blade of red light.

It would seem that the Prodigal Sprite had returned. The sprite-i-fied version of me wielded a short blade of red light, and he moved like a whirlwind, cutting down any imp or basilisk that dared come too close to me or him. I noticed with some measure of bewilderment how the Sprite sometimes was able to send underlings flying without actually _touching_ them, or how he would be able to conjure bursts of red flame from his free hand. Perks of being a sprite, I guess.

The Sprite glanced over at me, sensing movement. I suppressed the feeling of extreme discomfort that I always got when I saw the result of a combination between myself and an eagle. I mean, he had _feathers_ sprouting from his shoulders, chest, back, and upper arms, not to mention the wings… It's a pretty fucked up thing just to have to _look_ at—imagine having it screaming and slashing at you. Yeah, fucked up, indeed.

As I watched the Sprite, I noticed that he had retained the wounds of the body of the dead dream self with which he had been prototyped—his throat still looked like it had been slit. The wound was pretty discomforting to look at, but it didn't seem to affect the Sprite at all; he had no trouble breathing, and the wound was not even bleeding. Luckily, the Sprite did not give me enough time to dwell on his slit throat, which was starting to unsettle my stomach.

The Sprite finished off one last monster and turned back to me. "_Get up,_" he commanded.

"I can barely move, you fucktard!" I shot back.

"You're a goddamn Knight," the Sprite snarled. "Knights can get sliced up within an inch of their lives, and they can _still_ keep right on going. So get. The fuck. _Up!_"

Maybe it was what the Sprite said to me, maybe it was purely irritation at the _manner_ in which he was speaking to me, or maybe it was something else altogether, something that I could not even explain… But whatever the cause, I felt a sudden surge of strength, or willpower—perhaps they are more closely linked than I thought—and I pulled myself into a sitting-up position, and then up to my feet. It still hurt like a motherfucker, don't get me wrong…but for some reason, the pain almost seemed to stay at arm's length, allowing me to stand up and start hobbling towards my front door without losing consciousness.

I limped inside, my Sprite hot on my heels, slamming the door shut behind me. The Sprite was next to me the whole time, screaming in my ear, spurring me onward. The stairs were the worst…and, unfortunately, stairs were the only way up to the very top of the tower-like superstructure that had once been my house. I climbed one staircase after another, quickly losing count of how many steps I ascended. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I ran into a few imps on my way up, and I sometimes had to deal with winged basilisks when I was climbing stairs that were outside.

"I'm never…gonna complain…about slow elevators…ever again…" I gasped to myself as I stumbled up one of the last staircases. I emerged back outside and pulled myself up the last staircase, finally reaching the top of my house.

The two ogres had not gone anywhere—they were still up here, milling about the roof. Upon spotting me, however, they let out raw-throated growls and charged me. My Sprite gave a mighty flap of his wings and surged forward, barreling into the first ogre football-style, sending both of them tumbling over to the other side of the roof. I didn't even get the chance to watch their fight, though, because the second ogre came right at me, fists swinging.

I was incredibly wary of those fists, now—it had been those fists, after all, that had sent me plummeting to the earth the last time around. I dove to the side as the ogre brought its fists crashing down to the floor where I'd been standing, retrieving the Roman from my strife specibus, activating the blade's energy envelope.

I ducked another blow from the ogre, landing a hit on one of its legs as I recovered, cutting its hamstrings. Or, at least, whatever equivalent it had to hamstrings. The ogre gave a growl of pain, fell to one knee for a few moments, picked itself back up. It limped towards me and attacked once again, but I quickly sidestepped the next blow.

The ogre had been expecting me to dodge, however, and it brought its fists swinging around in the direction in which I was already moving. I had no time to react—one fist crashed right into the side of my chest, and I felt something snap under there. Fourth or fifth rib, it felt like… The second fist caught me right on the chin, and my head snapped back. I found myself lying back on the ground, staring up into the sky…only now I could see stars sparkling among the violet clouds.

The ogre grabbed me by the front of my shirt, lifted me off the ground, and threw me back down. I ended up skidding across the roof, coming to a stop just shy of the edge. My Roman Bowie went skittering out of my grip. I tasted blood in my mouth as I reached for my weapon, gasping painfully for breath.

The ogre seized me by the throat, this time, and held me aloft. I tried to break the ogre's grip, but I was barely capable of moving enough to put up a good struggle, let alone actually trying to free myself. My lungs started to burn, deprived of oxygen for too long. The seconds crawled past, and the burning in my lungs actually felt like it spread to my head, as if my entire body were actually crying out for air. My legs kicked uselessly in the air, and I really started to panic…but then something happened to me, inside me…

I'd felt something similar a couple hours ago, when I'd been retrieving cruxite dowels from the cruxtruder, which Cruz had dumped onto the roof of my then-normal-sized house. I'd been attacked by a basilisk, and I'd gotten so pissed off that something snapped within me and I somehow ended up slamming the underling down _through_ the roof and into the attic. It had also happened when I'd gone to the bathroom to throw up, and ended up killing an imp there without even touching it.

My panic was swept away, replaced with an almost inhuman sense of determination. As if my body were on autopilot, my hands dropped from the ogre's grip and formed themselves into fists. I felt a humming sensation envelop me, as if I could feel the very atoms in the wind vibrating ever so subtly. And finally, with every last drop of strength still left in my body, I punched my fists forward…and nearly jumped in surprise as twin jets of flame roared forth from my fists.

The ogre had time only to give a warble of surprise before its head was obliterated by the concentrated bursts of fire. As I fell back to the ground, released from the dead ogre's stranglehold, the humming, vibrating sensation left me, and the fires died. A shower of grist rained down to the ground all around me for a moment, before it was whisked away into my grist cache.

I sucked down the sweet, sweet air as hungrily as a man would gulp down water after having been lost in the Sahara for a week. I saw my Sprite out of the corner of my eye, grabbing one of the first ogre's tusks and bringing his red blade across the underling's throat in a quick, savage stroke. The ogre gurgled on its own blood for a few moments before dissolving into a mountain of grist. My Sprite collected all the grist and gave his wings a light flap, hovering over to me.

"I can't believe I was really this incompetent against ogres…" the Sprite muttered.

I tried to reply, but I made only a few unintelligible rasping noises. I was borderline delirious, after the severe beating I'd just taken. The pain in my chest from the broken rib was starting to intensify; it had been pushed into a dark corner when I'd conjured that fire—yeah, how the fuck did _that_ happen?—but now it was returning to the limelight.

"You obviously can't talk, right now, so I'll make this brief," the Sprite went on. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you back there… I'm just going through some really fucked up mental shit, after what Cass just did to me… Look, it's nothing personal, but I just can't be around you for a while. Here, I'm not supposed to give you this yet, but if you ever need a hand… Don't worry, though; if what I remember actually happened, you'll get along just fine without me. Just like everyone else…"

My vision was going blurry, and I could barely understand what the Sprite was saying to me. I felt him pick my head up off the floor and slip something down around my neck. I could see the first gate hanging in the air above me, maybe twelve feet off the ground. If I could find something to stand on, I would probably be able to jump to it…but standing up at all was out of the question.

I felt a strong grip haul me up from under my arms, dragging me across the roof toward the first gate. I glanced downward. The Sprite was no longer standing over me and talking to me…he was the one moving me. It was kind of strange to make physical contact with the Sprite—his body was composed of that strange, red, light-like energy. His lack of legs and faint translucence made him seem more like a ghost than anything else—not mentioning the fact that he'd effectively been brought back from the dead. And yet…here he was, grabbing me, picking me up, holding me…as solid as corporeal flesh.

I could feel the Sprite take a deep breath, heard the flapping of wings, felt the wind rushing against my face as we shot straight up towards the first gate. The Sprite pulled away at the last moment, but I kept right on moving, straight into the first gate.

There was a blinding flash of red light, and I found myself falling down…down…into my bed. Wait…what?

I looked around, blinking the weariness out of my eyes. I was back in bed, in my room at the top of my tower, dressed in golden pajamas.

I was back on Prospit.

"_God damn it all_…" I muttered to myself.


	10. II Chapter 10: LORAR

Chapter Ten: LORAR

I felt myself hit the ground with a resounding thud. If I'd landed on my feet, I would have instantly crumpled into a heap on the ground, but I ended up landing on my back—thanks mostly to the awkward angle at which my Sprite had thrown me into the first gate.

Speaking of my Sprite… I glanced around, trying to get my bearings, but I was all alone. No winged, feathery psychopaths anywhere in sight.

I'd landed on a hard stone floor. It was a platform of sorts that had been built into the top of the hill over which the first gate had deposited me. Was this the reason the platform had been built here, because of the first gate…or was it just sheer coincidence that the first gate happened to dump me right onto a stone platform in the middle of nowhere.

I looked up into the sky. I heard nothing but the rushing water of a nearby sky river, and the soft pattering of raindrops striking the grass, the trees, the stone platform. I gazed up at the nearby sky river, watching it twist its way through the skies. I tried to sit up, but the wave of pain that rolled up from my chest was enough to send me crashing back down to the ground. I looked under my shirt at my chest, saw that the skin around my broken rib was darkened and discolored, similar to a bruise. That meant internal bleeding. I also started to notice how I was no longer able to get a full breath of air. I was beginning to make myself lightheaded as I breathed more and more heavily, trying and still failing to get a full breath of air.

There was a sudden rustling noise, coming from behind my head. I twisted myself around, looking over at the clump of bushes at the opposite side of the stone platform. The bushes continued to tremble for a few moments, until a red snake slithered forth into view. It was a cobra, and it also happened to be a _giant_… As it reared its head up, flaring the neck hood that King Cobras were most well-known for, it was nearly as tall as me. And it was not just abnormally long for a snake; it was also as wide as me, shoulder to shoulder, at the widest point of its body—and its neck hood could stretch to an even wider width than that. It was truly a man-sized snake.

Its mouth hung slightly open, just enough to reveal two curved, gleaming white fangs. Although they were not dripping with venom, as I thought they would, I knew that the venom was still there. It had eyes of midnight black, with irises of emerald green. Its scales were of a rusty red color, and they almost seemed to catch the daylight, glittering faintly as it moved. But most peculiar about this giant cobra—apart from its size—was the small, red and black markings that were streaked across its face, upper body, and neck hood. That was not natural coloring—that was paint. It actually reminded me of the war paint used by some of the Native American tribes…but how could a snake put war paint on itself?

Now, I've never had any fear of snakes, before…but if a giant, man-sized cobra stated slithering towards _you?_ Would _you_ remain perfectly calm? I thought not.

I had to get the hell out of here. I ended up rolling over onto my stomach. I let out a muffled whimper as I accidentally rested on my broken rib. The pain in my chest exploded outward like a star going nova, and my breathing difficulty seemed to increase fivefold. I think the rib may have punctured my right lung. My throat started feeling like it had water caught in it, causing me to cough uncontrollably. I tasted blood in my mouth.

I reached forward and tried to pull myself away from that giant cobra, but an invisible grip suddenly wrapped itself around my ankles, preventing me from moving. No matter how hard I strained, how hard I pulled, I could not move an inch. My ankles may as well have been chained to a boulder. Finally, my muscles gave out, and I collapsed into the stone platform, turning my face so that I did not strike my nose on the ground. I just wanted to lie there, nice and perfectly still, for the rest of eternity…but my new friend was not having any of that.

I felt the invisible grip lift from my ankles, only to feel a band of pressure descend around my lower torso. I could feel myself rise about an inch or so into the air, and I was turned over onto my back and laid back down onto the stone surface of the platform. I gazed up into the purple rainclouds, closed my eyes as I was overcome by a feeling of profound lightheadedness.

I opened my eyes and continued to gaze up at the clouds…only they were not violet. No, these clouds were of a bluish-white color…they were Skaian clouds, I realized. I looked down at myself, saw the golden pajamas that I was wearing, the golden streets below that I was currently flying over. I was back on Prospit's moon.

As I floated along, I noticed that there were no Prospitians walking the streets, which struck me as odd—the golden moon was always a very bustling place. I also noticed a difference in the climate… It was Skaia, I realized. While the radiance of Skaia was normally a calm and soothing presence, it was beginning to become blistering hot, and blinding to look at. This must be an Eclipse, just like Cruz mentioned, when the golden moon's orbit around Prospit sent it brushing through Skaia's outer reaches. He had told me that it was not a good idea to be outside during an Eclipse, and I was beginning to see why. I started heading back toward my dream tower, knowing that I had to get to shelter before things got too intense.

As I soared through the rapidly brightening skies of Prospit's moon, I had to gaze downward in order to shield my eyes. I felt the dizziness overcome me once more as I looked down…and, after the next time I blinked, I found myself back on the stone platform, lying on my back, looking down at my own feet.

There was a low hissing noise coming from the side, and I looked over, meeting the gaze of the giant red cobra, which was reared up over me, its fangs extended outwards. It looked down at me for several moments…then it began to speak.

"You shall defile our landss no longer, underling sscum," the red cobra snarled. I wasn't quite sure how it was able to speak English…from the movements of its mouth, I actually don't think it _was_ speaking English, but I was somehow able to interpret its speech as such. It pronounced each word slowly, more precisely, and its 's's were elongated, making it seem like it was constantly hissing when it spoke.

With that, the red cobra bared its fangs and struck down…only to be yanked back by an invisible force that seized it by the neck, causing it to miss me. "_Wait,_" a deeper, raspier voice ordered from somewhere that I could not see. "Thiss creature iss no manner of underling we have encountered before… Hyperion hass ssent ssomething new againsst uss… Thiss creature musst be sstudied before we ssend it down death'ss river. Bring it back with uss…"

That familiar, invisible force picked me back up off the stone platform, causing my head to fall back towards the hard stone surface. Another wave of dizziness overtook me before it collided, however.

As my head fell back and I looked up to the skies, there was a sharp pain as the top of my head struck that hard stone surface I'd been expecting. I ducked back, seeing that I had just hit my head on the top of one of my dream room's windows. I was back on Prospit, once more…and I'd obviously made it back to the room at the top of my dream tower. I stepped back up to my window and gazed out across the golden moon of Prospit. Skaian clouds were brushing the very tops of the golden moon's tallest homes and towers, but my dream tower—and those of the other three Prospit dreamers—extended much further into Skaia's radiance.

I saw shapes moving in the clouds. As I watched more closely, the shapes grew sharper, and then they blossomed with color. The first cloud that drifted past my window showed me an image of my dead dream self, lying in someone's arms on a golden floor, his throat slashed open. The only part of the person holding him that was visible was the arms, as well as their red sleeves. Before I could really process that image, it faded away into the cloud, and another cloud drifted by to replace its predecessor.

This second cloud showed me Cass riding a dragon with scales of glittering amethyst. Flying right alongside her was a winged, feathery guy with a body of glowing energy, wielding a blade of red light. It was none other than my wayward Sprite. In the background, I could see many other dragons flying behind Cass and her purple beast, all of varying color. Cass's dragon glared at the cloud, almost like it was looking right at me. It snarled, opening its jaws, and blanked the cloud out with a roaring wall of flame.

After the second cloud moved off and faded away, a third cloud came to my window. I looked into this cloud, and I saw myself in a wooden canoe that looked like it had been carved from a tree trunk, traveling down one of the sky rivers of this land. The river I was riding took me around many peaks of giant mountains, bearing me away towards the heart of the mountain range. As I watched, the image shifted. The boat, the sky river, and the mountains all remained, but the canoe's inhabitants had changed. Now, there was someone lying motionless in the bottom of the canoe, and a giant cobra was standing watch over him. I couldn't tell if the person in the bottom of the boat was me—the canoe was silhouetted against a bright amber light, preventing me from seeing anything but shadows.

The fourth cloud showed me my friend Tami Abramov, kneeling in front of a giant crystal that faintly glowed with a white light. She was playing an odd-looking violin—it looked like it was fashioned out of diamond, catching the light, making it seem like it had a glow of its own. As Tami played, the violin appeared to sparkle, and the giant crystal seemed to resonate in tune with whatever Tami was playing, glowing now with a bright cyan energy. Two large, Lich-like underlings appeared in the cloud, advancing on Tami and the giant crystal, but they suddenly stopped, turned to face each other. The two underlings reached down, drew their blades. In the background, standing next to Tami—arms crossed, shades on—Gino Caiazzo watched with amusement as the two Lich underlings proceeded to impale each other, dissolving into mounds of grist.

The next cloud showed me a symbol of bright amber light that was shining in a dark, cloudy sky. It was a series of curved lines that appeared to make a likeness of a crashing wave—like those waves that you see crashing on the beach, as they curled over and imploded on themselves, only viewed from the side.

The next cloud to drift by my room's window showed me an erupting volcano. Hanging in the skies above this volcano were four figures, each of them blazing with a blinding aura of light—one of them shined with a blazing red haze, one with a green brilliance, another with a glaring amber radiance, and the one in the center of the group with a vortex of swirling blue light.

After the volcano faded away, a seventh cloud appeared to me. As I looked into this cloud, I saw only darkness. It wasn't total darkness, mind you…more like a dark gray, because I could still see a dark, shadowy figure in this cloud that still managed to pop out from the darkness around it. My muscles tensed up as I saw this figure—it was the Phantom that had haunted me all my life…and now it was coming to my dreams. "_Stop running from me_…" the Phantom spoke the words into my mind. Like before, I immediately recognized the Phantom's voice…but _also_ like before, that recognition instantly vanished before I could think upon it, so I was never able to remember who the Phantom reminded me of.

After the Phantom spoke, the darkness in the cloud resolved into an image of the giant red cobra staring down at me. Over the cobra's head, I could see a wooden roof, covered in small, dancing shadows cast from an unseen light source. As I stared into this image, there was a slight pain in my mind as I blinked once again. When I opened my eyes, I still saw the red cobra…but it was no longer staring at me through a Skaian cloud. Now, we were both in the same room, and the cobra was gazing down at _me_.

I was lying on a makeshift bed, composed of several blankets and what felt like animal furs. The room I was in was a small one, and it must have been located at the very corner of a much larger wooden dwelling, because it had two wooden walls. The interior walls were simply curtains of what seemed like some sort of animal hide.

I tried to stand up, but there was an invisible force pressing down over my chest and legs, preventing me from sitting up. As I tried to move, I noticed that the pain in my chest was now gone, and my body no longer felt like it was going to explode with all kinds of pain at the slightest touch. I was actually feeling pretty good…it was just this invisible force keeping me from going anywhere.

The red cobra hissed as it saw me wake up. "Father, the creature iss waking up!" it called out of the room.

There was a rustling as a flap in one of the inner walls was pushed aside by an unseen force—presumably the same one keeping me confined to the bed—allowing another giant cobra to slither inside, even larger than the first. While the red cobra was almost my height when it was 'standing up', this newcomer was easily two feet taller. This snake also had red scales, but it was a darker red than the smaller cobra—more of a maroon.

I tried to get up once again, but still to no avail. Finally, I realized that I was now able to speak without having my mouth fill up with blood, and I took full advantage of this. "What…what the fuck…?" was all I was really able to say at first.

"It sspeakss?" the red cobra flicked out its tongue and tasted the air, in a gesture of surprise. "Underlingss do not sspeak."

"None that we know of," the maroon cobra retorted, silencing the smaller snake with a glare. It then turned back to me. "What manner of creature are you, underling? Why hass Hyperion ssent you againsst uss?"

"Uh…you're…a snake. You, sir, are a giant fucking snake. Who talks. I am talking to a giant fucking snake…"

"You sspeak our language mosst sstrangely, underling," the maroon snake observed, giving a menacing hiss. "But I do not resspond well to inssults, sso choosse your next wordss carefully."

I took a deep breath, trying to force myself to calm down. "Alright, look… I have no idea where the fuck I am. What is this place? Who are you people? Are there more talking snakes out there? And I have no idea who the fuck this 'Hyperion' character is, but I definitely wasn't sent here by-"

"My name iss Burning Dussk, Chieftain of Clan Nathair, of the Western Fires," the maroon cobra introduced himself, cutting me off midsentence. He then nodded to the red cobra. "And you have already met Glimmering Sscaless, my sson. You are currently in the Warm Foresst of the Land of Rain and Riverss, after having been caught tresspassing on the Sacred Hill. And now that I have given you ssome of the ansswerss you sseek, I expect ssome in return. What manner of creature are you?"

"I told you, I'm not an underling. Do I look like a fucking ogre?"

"You are neither Derssite nor Prosspitian, nor are you of our race," the maroon cobra declared. "What else can you be, if you are not an underling?"

"I'm a human."

"What iss thiss word, thiss 'human'," the red cobra asked, its pupils narrowing slightly in a frown. "What iss 'human'?"

"It's…it's me, _I'm_ human…it's what my species calls itself…" I tried my best to explain, with little success. "Look, I'm not from here. I am from another world, which got destroyed, but me and my friends played this game, and _POOF!_ I end up here, in the Land of…whatever the fuck it was. And now, my species is pretty much extinct, except for the…oh…_eight_ us of who made it in here, and I'm having a conversation with a talking snake. I mean… I mean, just…_gah,_ just fuck my life. Great, now _I'm_ the one who needs another joint…"

"We found you on the platform at the top of the Sacred Hill," Burning Dusk, the maroon cobra, explained to me. "How did you come by it? You looked as if you had jusst been in a fight, yet there were no monssterss within miless of the Sacred Hill—we alwayss make ssure of that. How did you end up on that platform?"

I gave a quiet sigh, knowing by now that the only way I'd probably get out of here was to play the maroon cobra's game. "I played this game, like I told you, and my house got transported on top of some random mountain in this land. I got a little beat up on my way up to my first gate…but I made it, and I passed out as I went through. Next thing I know, I'm lying on that platform, waking up to Mister Scales over there," I gestured towards the red cobra with my chin.

"What iss thiss 'firsst gate' that you keep referring to?" Burning Dusk asked next.

"Honestly, I have no fucking clue," I sighed, quickly growing tired of all these stupid questions. "It's this portal that was hanging in the sky over my house. All I knew was that I was supposed to go through it…and so I did…and it just happened to dump me onto that platform. End of story. Can I go now?"

Burning Dusk chose to ignore those last few things I said. "Sso you are ssaying that, when you arrived on that platform, you fell from the sskiess?"

"Well… I mean, I guess technically _yeah,_ I did fall from the sky, but-"

"_Bring him,_" the maroon cobra ordered his son, abruptly turning away and absconding through the entrance flap.

The red cobra slithered back up to my side, tasting the air as he went. The unseen pressure on my chest and legs was lifted, only to be reapplied around my wrists, bringing them together like handcuffs. The force binding my wrists jerked me up to my feet and pulled me out of the room, forcing me to stumble after Glimmering Scales.

"How are you doing this?" I asked the red cobra, trying to shake my wrists.

"Lesser creaturess manipulate matter with their handss," Glimmering Scales replied. "We usse our mindss."

"You're…telekinetic?"

"You actually have a word for thiss?"

"First snakes are man-sized, then they talk, and now they can move things with their fucking minds…" I muttered to myself, under my breath. No wonder I felt more awake when I was on Prospit—my waking life was becoming more and more like a goddamn dream. Talking, telekinetic snakes? Come on… Before I could continue to speak, Burning Dusk cast me a glare, and I fell silent.

We headed down a hallway of sorts and into a large room with a long, rectangular table. A feasting hall, it looked like. I was pulled through the two large double doors set into the wall on the other side of the table, stumbling out into the night.

There were no stars and there was no moon…and even if there were, they would be obscured by the clouds. But it was the clouds themselves that glowed with a violet luminosity, bright enough to cast a very dim illumination over the land, almost as bright as moonlight.

I was in a village—there was no better way to describe the community of wooden cabins and buildings that occupied the top of the tree-covered plateau, in the middle of the forests, upon which it had been built. There were many smaller cabins, homes of the many members of this clan. There were dozens, hundreds of other giant cobras that inhabited this village. While most of them were going about their daily business, there was a good-sized crowd that gathered to watch as I was hauled across the village and up to the very edge of the plateau, where a bonfire of sorts had been constructed and lit, casting long shadows in every direction.

Five cobras sat in a semicircle around the fire, their bodies coiled up in tight circles, their necks and heads upright. They hummed in harmony with one another, swaying gently in unison, their forked tongues flicking in an out of the air. Their scales were a milky gray color, and their eyes a pale blue.

"_Honored Elderss,_" Burning Dusk, dipped his head down low to the ground in respect to the old snakes sitting around the fire.

"Honored Flame," the grayish-brown-scaled cobra sitting in the middle returned the bow. "Why have you dissturbed our meditation?"

"Troubling matterss, my Elderss," Burning Dusk replied. The chieftain glanced back at Glimmering Scales and gestured for him to come forward. "Pressent the human creature to the Elderss, my sson."

Glimmering Scales dipped his head down to the ground and slithered forward to the council fire, tugging me along behind it. The invisible force around my wrists pulled me down, forcing me to kneel. I looked across the fire as the five elder cobras regarded me with a measure of curiosity. "The myssteriouss underling that I disscovered on the Sacred Hill hass regained conscioussness," Glimmering Scales reported.

"It claimss not to be a thrall of Hyperion," Burning Dusk explained. "It claimss to have come from another land, a land not of thiss earth. It wass brought here by the power of the Sky Flame. It fell to uss from the sskiess, and the Sacred Hill wass where it firsst sset foot upon our landss."

I decided not to point out the fact that I arrived on that hill by falling flat on my ass while passed out. Didn't quite have that same kind of heroic ring that 'setting foot upon our lands' had. And while this would normally be the time for me to interrupt with some sort of snappy remark…something about these old, gray cobras gave me the feeling that I should _probably_ be respectful to them. And so, for once in my life—at least, for _now_—I kept my mouth shut.

Still, though…it was kind of irritating, how these giant snakes just started jawing on about me like that. I mean, come on… I'm right here! Whew, okay…deep breaths, deep breaths…just do yourself a favor and keep your trap shut… I breathed in deeply, doing my best to repress the surge of irritation that was threatening to boil over inside me.

The grayish-brown-scaled elder look right at me and said, "The creature believess itsself to be the hero of legend?"

My eye twitched.

"Okay, I'm standing right here! I can understand every word you're saying!" I exclaimed, my irritation finally reaching its melting point. I started to speak further, but even before I could continue, a new thought occurred to me, something I remembered the White Queen of Prospit telling me in a dream. "You're the consorts, aren't you? The native inhabitants of my planet. The ones I'm supposed to-"

"_Your_ planet?" Glimmering Scales gave a sharp hiss, his eyes narrowing into slits, his neck hoods flaring. "Jusst who do you think you are to-"

"_Ssilence,_" Burning Dusk snapped.

"He sspeakss our tongue?" the elder on the far right observed, surprise evident in his voice. This was something they did not expect. The elder then tasted the air with his tongue and turned to look straight at me. "_You_ sspeak our tongue?"

"Well, one of us is speaking _someone's _language without knowing it; might as well be me," I shrugged. I think, by now, I'd actually managed to move past the whole…you know…the fact that I was now in a world inhabited by giant talking, telekinetic cobra snakes. At this point, I was just sick and tired of being kicked around—by Sburb, by the underlings, and now by my own goddamn consorts.

"Thiss meanss nothing," the first elder on the left spoke up. "There iss nothing to prove that this creature iss not one of Hyperion'ss-"

"_Stop!_ Stop calling me 'creature'!" I finally blew my top, throwing my caution to the winds. I pointed straight at the elder who had spoken last. "I'm sure you have a name; would you be offended if, instead of referring to you by your name or title, I just decided to call you 'creature'? _Oh hello, look at me, I'm a giant talking snake! Watch me as I jack myself off with my own brainwaves-_"

Looking back on it… I mean, I shouldn't have yelled to begin with, but looking back on it… I really should have just bitten my own tongue after I asked the elder if he would be offended by me calling him 'creature', because after that I kind of…well, I went on a bit of a roll. I don't think I've ever gone off on someone like that before in my life—it took an apocalypse and multiple severe beatings to make me this unstable.

By the time I ran out of breath, I noticed that none of the gathered cobras were even listening to me, anymore. They were watching my hands, and the obscene gestures they were making. I fell quiet, and saw what the cobras had seen—my wrists had been bound by Glittering Scales's telekinesis, but now they were free. Somehow, I had broken the hold over me.

The five elders all huddled in close—they only had to extend their heads towards the elder in the middle, leaving the rest of their bodies coiled up in their places around the fire, before withdrawing. "We have removed tonguess for sslander less vile than what you have jusst uttered here," the first elder to the left hissed. "Know that your life hass only been sspared by Fate…and even then, it iss likely that ssparing you now iss only a posstponement of the inevitable."

"Our sstoriess, passed from generation to generation, foretell the coming of a hero of legend, known only as the Knight," the first elder to the right, who appeared to be the oldest of the five, explained. "It iss ssaid that thiss Knight iss a persson of great power, great enough to rival even Hyperion himsself. If there iss anyone who sstandss a chance of defeating the mighty Denizen…it iss the Knight."

The grayish-brown-scaled cobra in the middle of the semicircle picked up where his fellow elder left off. "We do not know when the Knight will come, or which clan he will hail from, but the Sacred Hill was ssupossedly where the Knight would enter thiss world, which wass where _you_ were found. And there iss a way to find him when he arrivess—the Trial of Legendss. There have been many who claimed to be the Knight of legend in the passt. Each one of them undertook the Trial of Legendss, and each one of them died trying to complete it. They died becausse none of them were the true Knight," the elder declared. He then looked over at the chieftain and gave a single nod.

Burning Dusk slithered towards the fire, moving right in front of me, stretching up to his full height of what seemed like seven or so feet. "We found you tresspassing on the Sacred Hill, an offence punishable by death. However, there iss evidence that sseemss to point to you possibly being the Knight of legend…and it iss the opinion of our honored elderss that thiss evidence iss genuine. Therefore, it iss my judgment that when we are greeted by the coming dawn, you shall be taken to the Forbidden River. There, you will undergo the Trial and prove yoursself a living legend…or a not-sso-living imposster."

The elders returned to their meditation, and Burning Dusk ordered me back into the building where I'd been brought from.

"Do not think that my father hass sspared your life, underling," Glimmering Scales said to me as he escorted me back into my room, stopping at the entrance flap. "No one ever ssurvivess the Trial of Legendss."

"I was getting a vibe like that, yeah," I sighed, sitting down on my bed of furs. I looked up to the red cobra. "Any advice for me?"

"Yess," Glimmering Scales bared its fangs in what looked like the cobra equivalent of a sneer. "Assk for a nice funeral pyre after you die." And with that, the red cobra withdrew from the entrance flap, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


	11. II Chapter 11: Be the Hero

Chapter Eleven: Be the Hero

I was rudely awakened when my blankets were telekinetically pulled out from under me, dumping me onto the bare wooden floor. With a single blink, I was no longer soaring through the brilliant golden rooftops of Prospit's moon. I was back in the village of the whacked-out sentient cobra people.

Blinking and rubbing my eyes blearily, I looked up into the emerald-eyed gaze of a giant, man-sized red cobra. It was Glimmering Scales, the son of the clan chief. "Hey there, Scales," I grunted, picking myself up off the floor. "Want to invite me for a morning stroll? Could use a little company?"

"A morning sstroll, yess," Glimmering Scales's tongue flitted out of its mouth, tasting the air, and the cobra gave a faint grin. "But thiss iss not an invitation."

My wrists were jerked behind my back as Scales secured them with his telekinesis…but I found that when I concentrated on moving my hands, I was able to easily loosen the invisible grip. With a few seconds of work, I actually managed to break free. This wasn't the first time I'd managed this—I'd done the same thing in front of the council fire, but that had happened in a fit of anger, quite by accident. This was the first time I'd _purposely_ broken free.

Glimmering Scales regarded me with surprise. "How can you do thiss, underling? You are not of my people."

"You ever consider the possibility that when I said I wasn't an underling…I just might have been telling the truth?"

Glimmering Scales's only response was a low, gravelly hiss—most likely his equivalent of an irritated harrumph. Without hesitation, a sword suddenly emerged from a sheath on Scales's back, glinting in the lamplight as it flew across the room and pressed itself against my throat. "I do have other meanss of perssuasion," Scales's faint grin did not waver.

I touched the tip of my index finger to the blade, gingerly pushed it away from my throat. "Cool, but unnecessary. I function better when the swords aren't in the general vicinity of my jugular," I said, wincing slightly as images of my Sprite's slit throat flashed through my mind. I'd gotten a little sick when the corpse of my dream self—which I still had no idea where it had come from, considering I just woke up from a dream in which my dream self was very much alive—had been dumped into my bedroom, but that had pretty much been it. But when Scales put that sword to my throat… I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself down.

Scales withdrew the sword, but he did not sheathe it. We emerged from the wigwam-like building, stepping and slithering, respectively, out into the crisp chill of the early morning. The indigo glow of the clouds that illuminated the night had faded away as a soft purple light began to seep into the eastern skies.

"You never ssee a dawn before, underling?" Glimmering Scales asked, seeing how I was staring at the morning light.

"Not one like this, no," I answered honestly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you've never seen one on a world with a blue sky and white clouds."

Scales gave another one of those low, gravelly hisses.

The two of us made our way to the edge of the village, where Burning Dusk awaited us with a large group of consorts—males, females, warriors, children; all kinds of people. "Why the crowd?" I asked the clan chieftain as we approached.

"The Trial of Legendss is no small affair," Burning Dusk replied. "Esspecially these dayss, it iss rare for people to attempt the Trial. Rare enough for each attempt to be a memorable occasion. There will be fesstivitiess at the Forbidden River until ssunsset tomorrow, which iss when you will undertake the Trial. There will then be a mourning period and funeral pyre after…" the clan chieftain's voice trailed off when he realized what he was saying. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Forgive me, I do not mean to imply that you will… Every Trial I have attended hass alwayss ended with the mourning and the funeral pyre…"

Sensing that his attempts to unsay his earlier slipup were causing more harm than help, Burning Dusk cleared his throat again and exchanged a nod with his son, slithering up to the front of the group. After a short while, we all set out, moving away from the village and forging ahead into the forest. We walked—well, _I_ walked—for many hours before the forest started to thin out, falling away into an expanse of rolling hills and meadows.

When I'd looked out over the land from the balcony of my house, I'd spotted a mountain range in the far distance, snowcapped peaks trying to spear the veil of violet clouds. As I looked in the direction we were heading, I could see those very same mountains—not quite so distant as before, but certainly not within a day's travel.

I resigned myself to a long day of walking. We ended up making camp in the hills for the night, giving me the chance to have a somewhat uncomfortable sleep. I had an assortment of nuts, berries, and some kind of porridge for breakfast. Eating the porridge was a little annoying, because there were no spoons. These cobras did everything with their mouths, their bodies, and their minds; they had no hands. When I asked for a spoon, I was greeted with blank stares—they did not even know what spoons or forks were.

Then it was back to the trail…or whatever it was we were walking down. We'd been traveling down a wide gully with a bottom of smooth-ish rock. It seemed like a road, but I could tell that it was not manmade…or, I guess I should say _snake_-made… Christ, this is getting annoying.

I ended up asking Glimmering Scales if this road was manmade—the hell with it, I'm not going to rewrite my entire goddamn vocabulary just for these reptilian assholes—and he told me _no,_ just like I'd thought.

"These are not roadss," the younger cobra explained. "They are riverbedss."

"Riverbeds?" I arched a quizzical eyebrow. "I thought all your rivers were in the sky."

"Yess, but they were not alwayss like that," Scales clarified. "They flowed across the earth until Hyperion arrived. It wass the mighty Denizen who threw the riverss to the sskiess."

"Okay, two questions; who the hell is this 'Hyperion' character that everyone keeps rambling on about, and why would he make all the rivers float?"

Glimmering Scales fixed me with a glare, his pupils narrowing slightly. "Assk ssomeone elsse; I am not your oracle."

And with that, Scales and I did not speak again for the rest of the morning. By noontime, the light of Skaia was at its brightest. The light drizzle of violet-tinted rain had started to intensify into a shower. I'd gotten wet a while ago, but the consorts seemed to live through the harder rain showers by telekinetically deflecting the raindrops that would have hit them otherwise. I wasn't entirely sure if they did this consciously or unconsciously—in a world of seemingly-eternal rain, telekinetically deflecting the raindrops was probably like breathing to these creatures. It was something I'd have to learn…

I mean, I've kind of figured that I have some sort of telekinesis swirling around in my head—the times I broke free from the consorts' mental grip, all the times when I'd killed underlings without laying a finger on them…that basilisk I'd somehow managed to slam down through the roof of my house…my survival of a drop of over a hundred feet…

Every time something strange like that had happened, I'd always been in the heat of a moment; be it a fight or a fit of anger.

_The main difference between someone like the Knight and someone like his Consorts is the mind._

_A Human lives with the dichotomy between thought and action, where action rests solely in the body or in the voice, and thoughts rest solely in the mind. Actions can be perceived by the senses, thoughts cannot._

_Thought and action to a Human are closely related, but distinctly separate._

_A Consort of LORAR lives with no such dichotomy. To the Telekinetic, thought and action can still be very separate things._

_But they can also be one and the same. And therein lies the critical difference, which your Hero must resolve if he is to become a true-_

I shook my head several times, tapping myself lightly on the temples. One moment I'd been thinking about the weird occasions when I may have shown signs of telekinesis, then suddenly my mind starts going haywire, spouting off these odd, random thoughts…

Suddenly, I heard the voice, the familiar voice I could never recognize… "_Your memories are overlapping_." I whipped my gaze over to the side, my breath catching in my throat as I caught sight of the shadowy figure of the Phantom, standing in the shade of a clump of trees. After a blink, however, it was gone.

"Are you sseeing ghosstss, now?" Glimmering Scales had seen my little fit, and was regarding me with wariness.

"I honestly don't know…" I answered.

"You should try making friendss with thiss ghost," Scales recommended. "After all, you will be joining it after the ssunsset."

"You really enjoy reminding me about that, don't you?"

"I enjoy sseeing underlingss ssquirm."

"…_not a goddamn underling…_" I growled under my breath, softly enough so that Scales would not be able to hear it. I'd given up trying to convince these people that I wasn't an underling, that I wasn't serving this 'Hyperion' dude—I'd just have to prove them wrong by passing the Trial of Legends, whatever the hell it was…

I couldn't help but feel somewhat—okay, _extremely_ irritated at my whole predicament. I mean, I go through all the trouble of getting back home from the hospital with the world going to hell all around me, starting up Sburb and entering the session, fighting off God knows how many waves of clawed, sharp-toothed little shits… And when I finally make it to the nearest village of consorts, the creatures who apparently are supposed to fucking worship me…

Okay, I'm sorry, I should really stop swan-diving into that sea of self-pity that I've been splashing around in these past few days. I just…I haven't had a single break since that meteor obliterated the High School, except for last night, when I had a night to myself, confined to my room in the Big House of Clan Nathair's village. But that doesn't really count, because that was little more than me waiting until morning, when I would be taken to go do some trial that apparently I won't survive. I wouldn't call that a 'break'.

In fact, you know what? I think I've actually been handling my shit really _well,_ considering all I've done in the way of lashing out was to snap at some old dickwad cobra who was incapable of calling me anything other than 'creature'. Points to me for not turning into a psycho…or at least, for not turning into a psycho _quite yet_.

I think it was still early to mid-afternoon by the time we arrived at the Forbidden River. The river itself, surprisingly, was a normal river. It flowed across the ground, winding its way into the distance, flowing towards the mountains that towered over the surrounding landscape. As I looked into the distance, I could see that there was a clump of giant peaks, much larger than the rest of the mountains. It was almost like someone had taken the Rocky Mountains and dropped a handful of Himalayas down in the middle.

The river that flowed across the earth, the Forbidden River, flowed from a giant, sparkling lake. And there were no less than eight large sky rivers pouring into it, like giant waterfalls. This filled the area with a perpetual, dull roar. With closer observation, I noted that there were an equal number of riverbeds that entered the basin in which the lake rested. Those eight sky rivers had flowed into this lake normally, once upon a time…and the lake, rather than overflowing, emptied out into the Forbidden River, flowing south towards the mountains.

On the western bank of the Forbidden River, not far from the lake, was a gathering of…well, I was going to say tents, but they're really more like teepees. Conical, made of hides from some unknown animal…yeah, they were teepees. There were hundreds of these temporary structures in a large, wheel-like formation on the western bank.

"We are the lasst clan to arrive, it would sseem," Glimmering Scales remarked, giving me what looked like a smile…but I knew that it was not a friendly smile. "Jusst as well; we would not want your Trial to be delayed another day, would we?"

"Yeah, that would really suck," I sighed, turning away so Scales could not see me rolling my eyes.

Within fifteen or twenty minutes, we were mingling with the hundreds of consorts who were already encamped at the Forbidden River. In Clan Nathair, the consorts had scales of varying shades of purple, red, and deep orange. Here in this camp, though, I also saw cobras with scales of light green and yellow.

"Who are all these people?" I asked, gesturing all around us.

"They are of the other eleven clanss of the Wesstern Firess," Glimmering Scales explained. "Clan Naja, Clan Atra, Clan Niivea, Clan Ashei; we are the lasst of the free clanss—those of the Northern Firess and the Desert Firess have long ssince fallen into Hyperion'ss conquesst. They are sslavess."

"They're all here for me?"

"Like my father ssaid—the Trial of Legendss is no ssmall affair," Scales reiterated. "In the olden dayss, before Hyperion'ss conquesst, attemptss to undertake the Trial of Legendss would draw crowdss of thousandss, from all over the planet."

I was escorted into a large, amber teepee situated in the center of camp. This seemed to be the place where the one undertaking the Trial would be prepared. All the other members of Clan Nathair had gone on to their part of the camp, setting up their shelters swiftly so that they could join in the festivities. Burning Dusk and Glimmering Scales, however, lingered at my teepee for a moment.

"You will remain here until sunset, at which time my son will fetch you," Burning Dusk said to me. "Usse this time to prepare yourself, in whatever way you ssee fit. I pray, for your ssake, that you are indeed the Knight of legend."

"Can I ask for just one favor?" I asked.

Burning Dusk hesitated, having been on the verge of turning to slither back outside. "What ssort of favor?"

"Knock me unconscious."

Burning Dusk frowned. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. I need to go to sleep for a short while, but I'll never be able to fall asleep naturally, so…"

"It would be my pleasure, underling," was the last thing I heard Glimmering Scales say, cutting me off midsentence before I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head. Next thing I knew, I was snapping up in bed, back in my dream room on Prospit's moon. The pain in the back of my head remained, leaving me with a spot that was tender to the touch, and a dull headache.

But the ache was more than bearable—as I've said before, I've always felt so much more awake and energized when I dreamed on the golden moon. My mind always felt clearer in my dreams.

My dream tower had four windows—one on each side of my room. I hopped out of bed and walked over to the window facing Skaia, looking out over the golden moon, up into the bluish-white radiance in the sky. I squinted, trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything in Skaia's clouds, but the moon was nowhere near close enough to Skaia for me to see its clouds.

I was suddenly gripped by a very strong urge to step out into the sky and fly up and away, soaring over the rooftops of the golden moon as I'd done so many times already…but I took a deep breath and repressed the urge. Yeah, I always felt clearer and more lucid when I dreamed on Prospit, but I was also a lot more carefree and spontaneous than I was while awake...which was a fancy way of saying that sometimes I tended to act like a fucking idiot when I was dreaming. Fitting for a dream self, I suppose.

But then that kind of begged the question…who was I really? Unlike most people, my dreams are actually _real_. It's not like I retreat into my mind every time I fall asleep like a normal person—Prospit is a real place within this session. I ambled over to the opposite window and looked out into the darkness, knowing that my waking self was out there, somewhere, lying unconscious in a teepee. Whether I'm awake or on Prospit, I'm still _me,_ I retain all my memories and identity…but I could see subtle differences in my personality as my dream self and my personality as my waking self. So is it possible that I exist as two different people, as strange as that sounds?

Bleh, there I go again, rambling on and on about boring, philosophical shit. _Fuck,_ I get so easily distracted when I dream…

I stepped away from the window and headed over to my desk. My dream room was almost an exact replica of my actual room. It had the same bed, carpet, nightstand, lamp, alarm clock, the same desk…and the same computer.

My dream computer was already on. I opened up PalHassle and checked to see who was online. I saw that Gwen was on, but I had nothing really to say to her—we never spoke much, anyway. Theo had been on recently, but he'd signed off just nine minutes ago. "_Damn_…" I muttered to myself. I hadn't spoken with Theo since before I entered the session, and I kind of missed the guy.

I scrolled down towards the bottom of my friend list, doing my best to ignore the dozens of signed-off screen names of people I'd known at school and from community theatre…accounts that would never be used again. I gave a quick sigh of relief when I saw that Cass was online, double-clicking her screen name.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling certifiedGoddess-<em>

AT: hey, cass?  
>AT: please please please answer<br>CG: Hey, what's the matter?  
>AT: oh fuck, thank you so much for being online right now.<br>CG: Yeah, you're kind of catching me at just the right time.  
>CG: I'm dreaming on Derse, at the moment… I think I might even be dead.<br>CG: My waking self, I mean…  
>AT: …?<br>CG: I don't know.  
>CG: I made it through my first gate yesterday<br>CG: *Thanks for building my house up, by the way  
>CG: and I end up running straight into a group of liches.<br>CG: You know, those weird underlings with skulls for heads?  
>CG: I was running from a big swarm of imps and ogres when I ran into these liches.<br>CG: I remember killing two of them, but one of them must've gotten me from behind, because the next thing I knew I was waking up on Derse again without knowing how I fell asleep.  
>AT: you're not dead, cass.<br>CG: You weren't there. How can you know?  
>AT: let's just say a cloud told me.<br>AT: anyway  
>AT: sorry, i don't want to be an asshole, but i don't exactly have a lot of time.<br>CG: Uh, okay…  
>CG: You seem pretty wound-up right now.<br>AT: haha, do I?  
>AT: do i seem a little <span>WOUND UP<span> right now?  
>AT: well, that's one way of putting it…<br>AT: i don't really know how to ask this without sounding like an idiot, but…  
>AT: cass, i think i have superpowers.<br>CG: …  
>AT: i know, i know, it sounds like crazy talk, but i'm dead serious.<br>AT: i'm pretty sure i can move shit with my mind.  
>AT: i've killed imps without laying a finger on them, i survived a fall i shouldn't have<br>AT: i even killed an ogre with fire from my fists.  
>AT: yeah.<br>AT: this ogre was about to kill me, and I conjured fire out of my fucking fists.  
>AT: i went all prince zuko on that bitch.<br>AT: am i going crazy?  
>CG: Uh…of course you have powers.<br>CG: We all do.  
>CG: You didn't already know this?<br>AT: um…where exactly did you learn all this shit from?  
>CG: My sprite told me.<br>AT: exactly.  
>AT: while your sprite was being all helpful and shit, <span>my<span> sprite went nuts and tried to fucking kill me.  
>AT: so would you mind filling the knowledge gaps, here?<br>CG: Cruz told me about your meeting with the White Queen, I just assumed that she explained this kind of thing to you.  
>AT: no, she just spouted some bullshit about the significance of journeys, or some other garbage.<br>CG: All eight of us have our own unique powers that tie in with our hero roles.  
>CG: For example, my sprite told me that my title was the Sylph of Death.<br>CG: I'm supposed to be able to heal with death, or heal the dead, or something like that.  
>CG: You're the Knight of Force, so you'll have some kind of...forcey powers.<br>CG: From what you've described, you seem to possess telekinesis…as well as the ability to conjure and command fire, though I'm not entirely sure how that relates to Force…  
>CG: Our powers begin to manifest as soon as we enter the session.<br>CG: You've only experienced these phenomena during fights?  
>AT: yeah.<br>CG: It's because our minds aren't used to manipulating our Aspects, after having grown up our entire lives with our powers remaining dormant.  
>CG: When we enter our session, the barrier between our mind and our Aspect begins to crumble.<br>CG: At first, our powers only manifest in times of extreme stress or emotional duress  
>CG: *Usually during a fight-<br>CG: But in time, you'll learn to invoke them at will, when you see that they have been there all along.  
>AT: Damn, you know a lot of shit.<br>CG: Some from my sprite, some from Gwen. She's discovering her Aspect, too—she already knows almost as much about this game as my sprite.  
>AT: okay, thanks…<br>AT: sorry if i was acting douche, i'm just under a fuckton of pressure, right now…  
>AT: my own goddamn consorts decided to-<p>

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling certifiedGoddess-_

* * *

><p>I spluttered as I suddenly woke up with water falling onto my face. I covered my eyes and rolled over onto my side, getting away from the miniature deluge.<p>

My desk and computer were gone, as well as my dream room. I was back.

"Get up, underling," Glimmering Scales hissed. He lowered the bucket of water he'd been emptying onto my face onto the ground. "It iss time. Lasst chance to ssay your prayerss."

"I'll pass, thanks," I yawned, climbing up to my feet. I didn't bother wiping the water off my face—I could hear the rain striking the outside of the teepee, and it sounded like it was coming down pretty hard. Even if I wiped my face, it would just get soaked again within seconds.

I stepped out of the teepee and into the rain, squinting up into the violet clouds. Skaia's light was shining brightly in the western sky, creating a purple-red sunset, and the clouds' nighttime luminosity was beginning to show.

I was surprised to find the combined camp of the twelve clans completely silent. The only noise was that of the rainfall, and the quiet roar of the eight sky rivers falling into the lake from which the Forbidden River flowed. It seemed that all of the consorts present had gathered on either side of the path that ran straight from my teepee towards the shore of the Forbidden River. I felt like someone walking past two walls of guards toward a King, seated at the far end of a long chamber. As I passed between the two lines of cobras, the ones I passed by broke their line and slithered after me.

By the time I came within sight of the Trial of Legends, right on the bank of the Forbidden River, I had a sizable mob of cobras following me. My clothes were soaked, as was my hair. It didn't seem very long normally, but wavy hair always appears shorter than it really is, except when it gets wet—I had to keep brushing wet strands of hair out of my eyes every so often.

I was doing this, pushing my wet hair from my eyes, when I finally saw what the Trial of Legends was. The lines of cobras ran all the way down to the bank of the river, to what appeared to be a tall ladder with shiny metal rungs. The rungs were not full rungs—they did not extend from one post to the other. Instead, the rungs alternated, protruding from the left post, then the right post, then the left, and so on until the very top, where there rested a wide stone platform.

Was that the Trial? Did I just have to climb a dumb ladder to make these cobras stop doubting me? I mean, sure, the ladder was pretty tall—at least a hundred feet, with rungs every two or so feet. Maybe two hundred rungs… Yeah, it was a tall climb, but certainly not impossible. Perhaps the consorts had been failing so miserably at it because cobras lacked hands and feet.

And that's when I got close enough to the tall ladder to see that its rungs were not mere metal rungs…they were blades. Razor sharp metal blades, protruding from the two thick, wooden posts. They gleamed in the sunset light, almost daring me to climb them. All too swiftly, my earlier relief dissipated, replaced with a noticeably increased breathing rate.

"Oh, shit…" I murmured. "Shit, shit, shit, _fuck_…"

I slid my hand under my shirt, clasping the amber pendant that my Sprite had placed around my neck, considering summoning the psychotic spirit guide, but ultimately decided against it. Call it trust issues, if you want—I'm sure my Sprite would need a little more time before he'd be able to not lose his shit around me. And I had no way of contacting Cass, Cruz, Theo, or anyone else. I was alone.

Burning Dusk was waiting for me in front of the ladder. He slid aside as I stepped up to the ladder of blades, and all the gathered cobras closest to the death trap drew back.

"Climb the Knight'ss Ladder and prove yoursself a hero of legend," Burning Dusk commanded. "Touch only the rungss. If you touch the posstss, you forfeit your life. If you give up your Trial, you alsso forfeit your life. May your flame never waver."

I stood there, looking up at the hundred-foot ladder and the stone platform at the top, breathing heavily as the rain slowly intensified, soaking my shirt and pants completely. That just made me more miserable—there's not much in this universe that I hated more than wet boxers.

How was I supposed to climb this thing without getting sliced up? I touched the rung at my shoulder height, feeling the edge of the blade. It was wickedly sharp, and I could tell that it would draw blood if I pressed on it.

This Trial was designed to prove the identity of the Knight of Force, so it had to be something that only the Knight of Force could accomplish. I think that, despite their telekinetic prowess, the cobra consorts were incapable of swinging themselves up on these blade rungs. They would not be able to coil up the posts, either, as touching the posts would 'disqualify' them from the Trial. And if they tried to slither from blade to blade, they'd get sliced to pieces.

No, you need hands and feet to climb a ladder…but I'm the only Human with telekinetic powers, which made me unique as the Knight. This Trial was something only a Human with telekinesis could conquer. A combination of body and mind. I took a deep breath, reaching towards the ladder, only to be stopped by Burning Dusk.

"_Wait,_" the chieftain of Clan Nathair commanded. "You musst complete thiss Trial with only the ressources of your own body. You are wearing foot protection—remove it."

He was talking about my shoes. The fucktards wanted me to climb this sword ladder without any shoes. Now, I'd be constantly resting my weight on a sharp blade edge, no matter where I was on the ladder… Maybe it didn't really matter all that much—the blade rungs probably would have sheared right through the soles of my shoes, anyway…but still.

I took off my shoes and socks, as I was ordered. Thankfully, the cobras did not want me to take anything else off—that would have been slightly awkward. I faced the sword ladder once again, taking another deep breath. "I can do this…" I breathed to myself. "You got this…you can do this…you can—_Fuck!_"

Feeling like it was the right time to try the ladder, I tried to grab the first rung. I'd just barely placed my hand over it when a burst of pain suddenly lanced through my arm. I withdrew my hand, which was already beginning to bleed profusely from the cut across the palm. I took another few deep breaths.

I was beginning to notice a strange feeling within me. It was a curious feeling, because it felt very familiar… It almost reminded me of that ringing noise you hear when you're in a silent room—that sound never goes away, it is always there…but you can only hear it in silent rooms, because the normal sounds of life are more than enough to drown it out.

With this strange sensation, I finally realized that it was the same feeling I got every time I was angry or panicked, or afraid. And when I wasn't in a moment of emotional stress, the feeling did not go away, it was still there…just much harder to notice. It faded away into the background of my mind.

I placed my as-of-yet uninjured left hand on the rung above the last one I'd attempted to climb, and I tried to slowly pull myself up so that I could rest my foot on a lower rung, towards the ground, but it was no use. I could already feel the skin on my palm starting to tear as I increased the pressure, so I pulled away. "This is impossible…" I breathed. "This is fucking impossible…"

Burning Dusk started towards me. "If you yield the Trial, your life iss-"

"Get the hell away from me!" I snapped at the maroon cobra in a surge of frustration. I was going about this the wrong way… I'd been trying to climb it with just my hands and feet, but any one of my other friends would be able to do the same. No, this was a trial designed specifically and solely for me, for someone with telekinesis…

I decided to close my eyes, and I concentrated hard… I imagined my hands and feet were made of metal, that I was wearing gloves and socks made of some impenetrable substance. I focused on that weird feeling in my mind, and I let it flow and expand to the furthest reaches of my body, until I felt like I was glowing with a faint, amber aura of energy.

_Is this the real life…_

_Is this just fantasy…_

Almost as if there was an earbud installed in my brain, I started humming and singing Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in my mind. _Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality._ My concentration did not waver, but I felt myself stepping onto something cold. I had the feeling that I was climbing, grabbing at handholds that, like with my feet, felt cold to the touch.

…_put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead…_

I couldn't really tell how fast I was moving—I was too focused on Bohemian Rhapsody, too focused on maintaining the rhythm and routine of my body's movements to notice very much of what was happening around me.

…_shivers down my spine, body's achin' all the time… Goodbye, everybody…_

I think the rain was getting harder. I heard a soft clap of thunder in the distance, and I still felt the coolness of the rainwater that had soaked my clothes through. I briefly wondered how the sword ladder wasn't slippery at all in the rain, but I immediately banished the thought—thinking about the sword ladder nearly made my concentration waver.

_...I don't want to die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all..._

Just as I started getting into the crazy middle section of the song, I felt a shift of surfaces underneath my feet. Before, I'd felt like I was stepping on small ladder rungs made of ice, but now I was standing on something much more solid.

Stone.

My eyes opened slowly to a view of the hills east of the Forbidden River. I couldn't see very far—the heavy rainfall obscured everything in the distance with a grayish-purple haze. I was standing on a stone platform.

I looked down at myself and saw that I was glowing. There was a dim, but strong amber glow all about me, almost as if my very skin was shining. Then I realized that I was looking down from the top of the sword ladder. I was on the stone platform at the very top.

I'd just climbed the sword ladder. I'd done it.

How the hell had I done that?

I looked at my palms, but they were unblemished—save for the cut on my right hand made by that first rung. My feet were likewise uninjured. Had those powers Cass had been talking about…had they protected me? Is this the kind of shit I can do as the Knight of Force?

I noticed that I could now feel that odd sensation I'd felt as I started to climb the Knight's Ladder, and it did not feel so odd, anymore. I don't think it had changed at all, actually…right now, I just seemed to be able to notice it a lot more than I normally did.

I had no way to be sure, but I think that, if I concentrated hard enough, I'd be able to use my powers again. This was the first time I actually fully believed the fact that I had some kind of telekinesis—before, I'd only been partially convinced, more confused than anything. I just wanted answers…then I refused to completely accept the answers that I was given. That is, until I ended up in a situation where I was forced to spark my semi-dormant powers, and I quite literally saw for myself what I was capable of.

As I looked down to the ground, I saw the hundreds of consorts gathered around the Knight's Ladder. While the cobras spent most of their waking hours with their necks and heads reared up, almost like they were standing up, all of the gathered consorts had lowered their heads to the ground. I think they were bowing to me.

I took another deep breath and, as if I was in a trance, stepped forward, off the edge of the platform. I plunged through the rain for a few brief moments before I concentrated on that 'Forcey' feeling within my mind.

Now I knew what that feeling reminded me of; it reminded me of a muscle. It felt like I had a muscle in my mind, now, and when I used the telekinesis of the Force Aspect to arrest my fall before I hit the ground, it was like I was 'flexing' this muscle. And as I 'flexed' it, my faint, golden-amber aura flared brightly for a second before subsiding.

Burning Dusk and Glimmering Scales were the only ones who had not bowed down yet, but the chieftain of Clan Nathair did so when I touched down to the ground. I stepped forward, raising an eyebrow at the red cobra. "Can underlings do that?" I asked.

Glimmering Scales tasted the air and blinked, his slit-shaped pupils relaxing into a more oval shape. I saw something new in his eyes, then…could it possibly be a grudging respect? Disbelief, perhaps? Then he, too, lowered his head to the ground. "_Knight,_" he hissed.

I found that I was smiling. Finally, at long last…_something_ was going right for me. I wouldn't be getting any more trouble from my own consorts. But I knew that was just the beginning… There were still entire swarms of underlings out there that needed to be dealt with, and I had to get started on familiarizing myself with my Aspect. I'd compared it to a muscle, and muscles need exercise to grow stronger.

"_I'm just a poor boy, _every_body loves me…_" I chuckled.


	12. II Chapter 12: With A Little Help

Chapter Twelve: With A Little Help From My Consorts

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain continued to fall, pelting the earth at a noticeable slant. Whenever there was a flicker of lightning, it was reflected in the metal blades that formed the rungs of the Knight's Ladder.

And there I was, standing at the bottom of this ladder, with several hundred cobra consorts bowing down to me. I was reminded of that scene towards the end of Return of the King, when all those people bowed down to the four hobbits…and I was able to imagine just how uncomfortable Frodo and company felt. I really didn't know what to do with these creatures.

Should I say something? Do something?

"So…" I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "What happens now?"

Gradually, all of the consorts 'stood' back up, but no one spoke, prolonging the awed silence. Thankfully, Burning Dusk finally broke that silence, saying, "The Knight walkss among uss! I ssay we celebrate, Hyperion be damned!"

A roar of approval and agreement rose from the crowd, and many of the consorts dispersed, making their way back to the camp. As I walked through the remaining spectators, I felt soft…sensations, all over my body. Almost like pieces of silk being brushed across my skin.

Oh fuck, I think the cobra people were _touching_ me…

Glimmering Scales, who was slithering alongside me, noticed my discomfort. "Why do you shudder sso? Doess physsical contact disscomfort you?"

"It's not about the physical contact, no…" I had to clear my throat again. "I mean… Nothing personal, but this is just like being stuck in a room with a bunch of invisible TSA screeners, and it's really starting to skeeve me out."

"I don't know what that meanss."

"Yeah, because you're lucky enough to have not invented airplanes, yet."

"I don't know what that meanss, either."

God damn, this place is just where pop culture references come to die.

I sped up, making my way out of the crowd and away from those touchy-feely minds… Man, I was glad to be away from all that. If someone's gonna be getting all handsy on me like that, it better be in bed, not from a bunch of whacked-out sentient cobras who think I'm some kind of legendary hero. Not cool.

The festivities began after the remaining light of the sunset faded away. I was given my own teepee for the night, and I chilled there for a little while, sitting down and allowing myself to gather my thoughts. I'd just climbed a ladder of swords—I needed a small break, okay?

There was a younger female consort from Clan Nathair by the name of Whispering Rain, who was sent into my teepee to prepare me for the celebration being thrown by Burning Dusk and all the other clan chieftains of the Western Fires. From what I could hear of the party going on outside…well, the cobra people have reminded me mostly of Native Americans, so far, but they sure did not celebrate like Native Americans—it sounded like fucking Valhalla out there.

"Why do you cover yoursself with hidess?" Whispering Rain asked me after she introduced herself and set down the wooden bowl she'd been telekinetically carrying in front of her.

I blinked, taking a brief moment to figure out what the hell she was trying to say. "You mean…why do I wear clothes?"

"Thiss iss what you call them, 'clothess'? What purposse do they sserve—I've been curiouss ever ssince you firsst arrived."

"Uh…" I blinked again, cursing the White Queen in my mind—when she'd mentioned that I would have consorts to help me on my quest…well, she obviously hadn't told me everything about them, as I'd found out…as I was _still_ finding out… "Well, uh… People like me need to wear them, or else we'll freeze to death in colder weather."

_And I don't want my dick hanging out for all of you to see_. That was what I was really thinking, but I decided to keep that to myself.

"But how do you paint yoursselves if you are wearing…_clothess_…?"

"We…_don't_ paint ourselves… Look, let's just get this 'preparation' stuff over with, alright?"

"I am here to paint you for the celebration," Whispering Rain declared. I felt her telekinetic grip tug at my shirt. "You may keep everything elssse, but you musst at leasst remove thiss upper piece. Your ssymbol will go on your chesst, but your hidess, your clothess are in the way."

"_Fine,_ but the pants are staying right where they are," I grumbled. The shirt I was wearing was already torn and muddied up from the beating it had taken at the hands of the underlings who'd stormed my house—it was barely even a shirt, anymore. This was the third or fourth shirt I've gone through since that meteor blew up the high school; this really wasn't a good time to be an article of my clothing.

Whispering Rain slithered up in front of me, bringing the bowl with her, which I could now see was full of a reddish-orange paint. The female consort did not use any kind of brush, either—she simply extracted a small blob of paint from the bowl, and, with her natural telekinesis, gently drew that blob of paint across my chest, making a wide arc. When the arc was finished, the blob was no more, so Whispering Rain pulled another sphere of paint from the bowl.

It reminded me of those videos of astronauts in space, when they'd open their pouches of orange juice, and it would all come floating out in those little orange juice-spheres. Only in this case, it was body paint, not orange juice, and I obviously was not ingesting it. But it really was interesting to watch…not only the paint, but even the consorts themselves—when you evolve without hands and a natural ability to manipulate matter with your mind…your way of life is going to be a _hell_ of a lot different compared to mine.

Whispering Rain drew several lines across my face, following the contours of my jaw and cheekbones. A final line was added afterwards, running from the middle of my hairline down to my chin.

"Won't the rain just wash this all away once I step outside?" I asked as the female consort continued to draw more curves across my chest.

"If you allow it to, yess."

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. _No shit_. "How do I…uh…_not_ allow it to?"

"How did you climb the ladder?"

_Upon entry into the Medium, a Hero's previously-dormant powers are awakened, though the Hero does not feel this._

_It may be a while before your Hero senses his own power._

_The earliest part of your Hero's quest will be the most difficult, as he struggles to find his Aspect within himself._

_A Hero's powers are fueled through his belief in them._

_At first, your Hero may invoke his Aspect in times of great stress, but these occasions will be extremely isolated and brief. It is not until your Hero consciously, purposefully invokes his Aspect that he can truly begin his quest of self-discovery._

_Your Hero's mastery over his Aspect will increase until his Aspect is as natural to him as breathing or blinking. It is a muscle that must be discovered within, and then exercised._

"_Stop running from me_…"

I heard the Phantom's voice as I shook my head. After Whispering Rain asked me that last question, my mind suddenly exploded with random pieces of knowledge that I had never known before in my life—almost as if they'd been planted, waiting for some kind of trigger. Then the Phantom's voice cut through everything.

"Knight, iss ssomething wrong?" Whispering Rain had paused in her work. I can only imagine how I must have looked, shaking my head like a madman.

"Uh, no," I blinked several times, taking a few deep breaths, calming myself down. "Just got a little dizzy for a sec."

But those strange, foreign thoughts had remained, and I could remember everything they had told me. It was pretty unsettling…and it wasn't the first time it had happened, either—I'd had strange thoughts that weren't mine once before, during our long walk to the Forbidden River, when I'd been thinking about the consorts and their telekinesis.

Whispering Rain thankfully finished her work without asking me any more questions. When she was done, I looked down to see what she had done. I couldn't see the paint on my face, but I could see what she had drawn on my chest. It was a series of curves and arcs that formed the image of a crashing wave, and I gave a small start of surprise when I saw and recognized it—I had seen that exact same symbol in one of the Skaian clouds during Prospit's solar eclipse. It had been made of blazing amber light, however, not red body paint. But the symbol was the same.

"What does this symbol mean?" I asked the female consort. "I've seen it before…"

"It iss the Knight'ss ssymbol…er, _your_ ssymbol, rather…" Whispering Rain shook her head once, giving a quiet sigh. "Thiss will take ssome time to get ussed to, having the Knight walking among uss… The Knight'ss ssymbol—_your_ ssymbol, it ussed to shine in our sskies, like the Great Sky Flame, over the Knight'ss Mountainss. These days, however, it iss obsscured by the raincloudss. If it ever exissted at all, that iss…"

"How do you know the symbol belongs to me?"

"Why elsse would Hyperion hide it away from uss?" Whispering Rain countered. "The mighty Denizen hass devoted much time to wiping out all knowledge of the ancient legendss, of the coming of the Knight, but our elderss keep the sstories alive through oral tradition. You shall hear the sstory at the council fire tonight."

With that done, I was finally able to step outside into the rain. After I walked several paces toward the center of camp, I noticed that I didn't feel wet at all. I looked up and realized that even though the rain was falling everywhere around me, somehow none of it was hitting me. I could also barely see a very faint amber haze, hanging in the air over my head.

I'm not really sure how I was redirecting the rain… I think I might have accidentally learned how to do it when I got that sudden burst of foreign thoughts, earlier… I mean, that was really the only way I could explain it—the knowledge of how to redirect the rain couldn't have sprung from nowhere, could it?

I decided to put it out of my mind. Somehow, I was redirecting the rain, but maybe if I started actually thinking about it, I might inadvertently mess something up…and then I'd be soaked for the rest of my stay on this acid-trip of a planet.

There were dozens of casks of what appeared to be some kind of wine stacked up all around the open center of the camp. Many of the teepees too close to the center of the camp had been taken down and moved further back, giving the celebrations more space. I saw several consorts engaging in some sort of dance—their scales glistening in the firelight, weaving and twisting in and around their own bodies in a dizzying, spinning dance.

In the center of everything was a giant, roaring council fire, which was more than enough to illuminate the entire revelry. Music filled the air, countering the pattering of the rain, as the musicians from the various clans played their pipes, beat their drums, sang up to the skies.

I also noticed movement up in the sky, not too far over our heads. There were small birds dancing around the firelight—cardinals, judging by their vibrant red color. I heard them tweeting, making conversation with one another in their strange, incomprehensible language. I'd seen a couple cardinals these past two days, but only a couple—they must stick to the skies above the clouds.

There were several large stone slabs set into the ground around the council fire, and a large feast had been arrayed on top of them. There were many chicken-like creatures that had been prepared, and they smelled deliciously like their earthen counterparts. There were also vegetables, bread, and several kinds of soups. My stomach growled, and I realized that I hadn't eaten in nearly two days. I was fucking _hungry_.

The festivities seemed to redouble in energy when I joined in. Something about having a figure of legend partying with them made these consorts go a little wild. I guess it would be like if Zeus suddenly showed up at a house party somewhere in Ancient Greece—the people would lose their shit.

"_Knight!_" a consort called over to me from one of the casks of wine. The cobra filled a leather wineskin with…well, I don't really need to tell you. I mean, it's called a _wine_skin for a reason. The consort filled it up and send it flying over to me.

I snatched the wineskin out of the air and nodded to the consort in thanks. I then took a quick sip of the wine, getting a feel for its taste. To my surprise, it was sweet to the taste. Yeah, it had that light harshness that all alcoholic beverages had, but I was able to drink it without feeling like my throat was on fire.

I'm not really an alcohol guy, if you haven't noticed. I mean, I enjoy getting drunk as much as the next teenager, but after several…_experiences_ while under the influence of alcohol… I just prefer weed. Weed makes me think, alcohol makes me stupid. Still, though, a party was a party, and I sure as hell wasn't going to come out the other end of this sober.

I took another gulp of wine and joined in the dancing. A lot of these cobra people were going pretty wild—I already described how they danced, using their entire bodies…it almost looked like they were tying themselves into knots, but this never actually happened. I couldn't exactly dance like that, so I just kind of winged it.

I forced myself to learn how to shuffle a while ago, and I learned how to Charleston for this one musical I was in, last summer, and what I ended up doing tonight was some sort of combination of these two dances. I think the main reason why so many of the consorts watched me go crazy was less because of how good I was—because, take it from me, I'm a pretty piss-poor dancer—and more because it was fascinating for them, a race of limbless cobras, to watch someone dance using arms and legs.

I'm not quite sure how long this phase of the little 'Welcome to LORAR' party lasted—I had a nice buzz off the wine by the time the music died down. I wasn't drunk, or even completely buzzed, yet, but I was well on my way. The world seemed a bit more vibrant, and I found it was a lot easier to smile and laugh like I'd done when I was younger. At least, when my Sis wasn't trying to carve me into pieces…

And speaking of my Sis, where the hell had she gotten to? She'd vanished shortly after our house had been whisked away into the game session, and I hadn't seen her since. I hoped she was alright…knowing my Sis, she probably _was,_ but still…

I stumbled to a stop as the music faded away, and the musicians put away their instruments. Each clan had brought an elder to the Trial of Legends, and these twelve elders gathered now in a circle around the council fire. All of the consorts gradually filled the space around the council fire as the elder from Clan Nathair—which I was beginning to see was the most powerful of the Western Fires—coiled up to a rest on a flat, red rock, at the prime seat around the fire.

As I moved to take my own seat, Burning Dusk intercepted me and brought me up to the very front of the seats, closest to the elders around the council fire. After I sat down, the elder from Clan Nathair began to speak.

"Ssince the timess of the earliesst ssongss, the Sstory of the Knight hass been kept alive by the elderss of our clanss, passed down from generation to generation. It withsstood tidess of time, and even the conquesst of Hyperion, when the written form of our language wass losst…"

I sat perfectly still as the Clan Nathair elder recounted a lengthy story. To my mild surprise, the story was actually very interesting. Or maybe it was just the elder—Falling Sun, I think his name was—and his skill at storytelling.

I was also a little bit surprised at the simplicity of the elder's story; he was telling it like a father might tell a child a bedtime story. There wasn't any fancy verse, or any kind of poetic structure to the story at all. It was just that—a story.

The elder spoke of the civilization of the consorts in ages past, of the First Fires—the three great clans of ancient times, of how they were raised to heightened sentience by the Old One. I'm not entirely sure who this 'Old One' was, but I'd have to wait until later to ask someone—I got the feeling that it'd be rude to interrupt.

_We were a simple people once, living in the three clans of the Great Fires—the peoples of the Forest, the Plains, and the Sands. Our lives were simple, our thoughts were simple…our very minds were simple._

_This was the Age of Legends, the time of the First Stories. A time before even the arrival of Hyperion._

_We were raised up by the Old One—a maiden, She Who Walks Tall, with eyes of deepest red. Sent down to us by the Great Sky Flame, the Old One gave us the gift of knowledge, and the power of Force, of the energies that drive all things. Our minds were ascended, our senses sharpened. We were capable of thoughts and emotions and actions that had previously been unknown to us, in our limited perceptions…in our simplicity._

_The Old One was given visions, glimpses into the past, the present, and the future by the Great Sky Flame, and she gifted them in turn to our elders. They foretold a great purpose that our very world would one day help fulfill. A great creation. A Garden in the Eternal Darkness._

_They foretold the arrival of Hyperion, and the sundering of our rivers. They foretold the sorrows and darkness that descended upon our peoples. The arrival of the underling swarms._

_Even now, we—the Clans of the Western Fires, descendants of the Old Peoples of the Forests—are the only peoples who remain unburdened by the yoke of Hyperion's conquest._

_The Old One was sent by the Great Sky Flame to prepare our world for its purpose, but she would not be the one to fulfill it. She would not live to see the seeds of her labor come to fruition. But the Old One also foretold the coming of the one who would—of a great Hero, known only as the Knight._

_The Knight is He who will fulfill our world's purpose, who will finish what the Old One started._

_The Knight will come to us through a rain of fire and the breaking of glass, and he will become greater than any who ever walked these lands before him, until even the mighty Denizen stands as his equal._

_With his power, the Knight will return balance and order to our lands. He will face the mighty Denizen, and he will light the Fire of our world._

_And until the Knight comes, we, the People Who Wait, will await his arrival._

"…and sso, our wait iss concluded. No longer are we the People Who Wait. The Knight walkss among uss, as the Old One did before him. Now, we assume the role of Conssortss to the Hero of Force, to sserve and follow him until he fulfillss the desstiny the Great Sky Flame hass laid out for uss all."

I shook my head, blinking several times, realizing that I'd zoned out for almost the entire story…yet I still remembered everything the elder had said. I swore under my breath.

It had happened again. I'd started having all kinds of thoughts that were not _mine_… And yet…and yet, it had still been different, somehow, from when I'd had foreign thoughts on the walk to the Forbidden River, or earlier when I'd come down from the Knight's Ladder. During those occasions, it had felt like someone broke into my mind and hijacked it, filling it with thoughts that were not my own.

This time, though…the thoughts still had not been my own, but they were much more subtle. I actually believed I was listening to the elder, but I'd only been thinking the exact same thing Falling Sun had been saying… Almost like glancing at a book you've never seen before and suddenly being able to already know what it said, even as you started reading.

I shook my head once more and took a deep breath, forcing myself to come back to reality.

"That was shorter than I expected," I murmured to Burning Dusk.

Burning Dusk tasted the air, giving a hiss of what sounded like amusement. "Our Sstoriess have ssurvived the agess and the conquesst of Hyperion because of their messagess, not their length. Would the Sstory be any different, had it been many hourss long?"

"Well… I guess not," I shrugged, cracking a faint grin. "Call it a very pleasant surprise. Let's just say that I don't like sitting still for too long."

"Nor I," the chieftain of Clan Nathair grunted as all the gathered consorts left the council fire and resumed the festivities. "But it iss tradition to tell the Sstory of the Knight at every Trial of Legendss. Fortunately, thiss iss not our only tradition. Come, take your place at the fire—the celebrationss continue."

As I joined Burning Dusk around the fire with the elders and several other consorts—the leaders of the other clans, I assumed—Falling Sun produced a long wooden pipe from his bag. He took a minute to pack some sort of plant material that looked like tobacco into the bowl. It was fascinating to watch the consorts perform everyday tasks such as this—they went about their lives almost exactly like humans would…only they use their minds instead of hands. Their telekinesis was not simply the ability to push objects through the air like cheap magicians; it was a way of life. I watched Falling Sun pack the bowl of his pipe, as meticulously as if he was an old English gentleman with fingers, and I couldn't help but wonder how I would ever be able to use my Aspect with that level of ease and precision.

But I only wondered for a split-second, because Falling Sun sent the wooden pipe hovering over to me when he was finished.

"You guys smoke, too?" I asked, accepting the pipe, feeling the smooth, carved wood.

"Only the elderss and the clan chiefss, and those whom we allow, are permitted to ssmoke from the clan pipe," Burning Dusk replied. "And we only ssmoke from it on the ssolsticess and during council firess."

"And I'm one of those lucky ones who you're _allowing,_" I remarked, taking a moment to sniff the contents of the pipe's bowl. I wasn't quite sure what the tobacco smelled like—if it was tobacco, that is. It almost reminded me of Black Cavendish, only with a slightly sweeter scent…almost like a cross between Cavendish and an aromatic…something basic. Caramel, perhaps. If that makes sense.

Oh, hell, chances are you don't smoke pipe tobacco, so this probably _doesn't_ make sense.

"You are the Knight," Burning Dusk declared. "You hardly need permission."

"_Heh_… Perks of being a figure of legend, and all that," I snickered, raising the pipe to my mouth. I then remembered a fundamental part of smoking that was missing. I glanced up, blinking once, seeing that everyone around the fire was staring at me. "Uh… Anyone, uh… Anyone got a light?"

"Pardon?"

"I need something to light this," I explained. "I left my lighter in my house."

"I will light it for you," Burning Dusk understood what I was getting at. As he glanced at the pipe, a small mote of flame appeared over the bowl. "Inhale deeply and gently."

I then remembered the power I'd displayed over fire, back on my rooftop. I'd somehow conjured fire and completely wrecked that one ogre's shit. My consorts obviously shared my telekinesis—it only made sense that they shared my power over fire, as well.

As the flame flickered into existence over the pipe's bowl, I placed my mouth on the mouthpiece and drew firmly from the pipe.

Now, I enjoyed drinking as much as the next guy, but I would choose smoking over alcohol in a heartbeat. There are many who would disagree, but for me there really wasn't any contest. If I was supposed to inhale it, then it obviously was not pipe tobacco. No matter, though; I've been smoking for years, now, and I've learned to handle my shit.

I was back in my comfort zone. Time to show these cobra-people how a _real_ person smokes-

"_Oh, FUCK!_" I barely had time to turn away from the pipe before I started coughing fire. I mean, no, I wasn't actually coughing out _fire_—just a metric fuck-ton of smoke—but it sure felt like someone had dropped napalm in my lungs and throat. I coughed and heaved until it felt like I'd have to use a ramrod to shove my insides back down my throat.

I passed the pipe over to Burning Dusk before I dropped it, slamming my fist down onto my knee several times, tears streaming from my eyes.

I still remember the first time I ever smoked. I was twelve at the time, in the seventh grade, and it was my fifth or sixth time hanging out at Cruz's house. We'd both met each other in our dreams—on Prospit, to be precise, though I wouldn't really know much about Prospit until I began High School and started remembering more and more of my dreams on the golden moon. So we went to explore the Frog Temple ruins in the lake, and Cruz asked me if I wanted to smoke with him, and I said _yeah,_ so he whipped up a bowl of some pretty dank weed and a bit of changa—don't ask me how the hell he managed to get shit like that in Middle School.

He explained to me how a glass bowl worked and how to use it, did a quick demonstration, then gave me the lighter and told me to have at it. And when I inhaled, I was fine at first until the shit sneaked up on me about two-thirds of the way into my breath. I ended up blowing out the bowl—I still cringe when I think about that—and coughing my ass off for God knows how long. I didn't fully get my voice back for ten or fifteen minutes.

That had been like a tickle in my throat compared to what I was going through now.

Finally, I got my coughing under control and rested back on my elbows, taking deep, slow breaths.

The elders and the clan chiefs were looking at me with some measure of amusement. I know they were probably laughing their asses off at the fact that the one who was supposed to be able to challenge this 'Hyperion' character couldn't even handle a single hit of their shit.

Yeah, hardy-fucking-har.

Dancing Shadow, the orange-scaled chieftain of Clan Niivea, who was sitting to my right, offered me the pipe. "Again, Knight?" the thick-set cobra asked, his straight tone just barely managing to mask the laughter that was simmering within him.

I took the pipe, plucking it from the air and holding it to my mouth warily. I grunted over to Burning Dusk, and the chieftain of Clan Nathair lit me up. I was much more cautious now than I'd been before. I drew on the pipe gently, this time. I was surprised to find that the…whatever it was…it actually had a very sweet flavor that lingered on the tongue for a short while. Before I knew it, I'd taken a full breath.

I passed the pipe on to Burning Dusk and released my breath, letting the smoke stream out into the air and join the smoke of the council fire.

Two hits of this mystery cobra-weed was enough for me. I know, you're probably thinking 'Only two hits? What a pussy!' Yeah, well, you haven't smoked this shit. I have. Go fuck yourself.

Thankfully, the bowl was finished by the time the second circuit was complete, and we all gazed silently into the flames of the council fire. Well, _most_ of us were silent…

"_Whew,_ those are some powerful-ass herbs you got there," I said to Burning Dusk, noticing that I was starting to grin without knowing it. The world around me, even though it was nighttime, was already looking vibrantly colorful. "How can you smoke that on a regular basis? Felt like my lungs were on fire…"

"We call it Knightsweed," Burning Dusk replied. "It iss grown by Clan Ashei, in the Shadowed Foresst. It certainly hass a bite to it, but we quickly grow accusstomed to it…why are you laughing?"

"I'm not laughing," I immediately answered before I realized that I _was_ laughing. Quite loudly, in fact. I bit the insides of my cheeks and got myself back under control.

Barely five minutes after taking two hits, and I was already laughing my ass off over nothing. Yeah, this was going to be an interesting night.

"You call this stuff Knightsweed?" I finally managed to ask the clan chief when I got my laughter under control. "Like…like, you actually call it that? Knightsweed?"

"Yess…" Burning Dusk replied hesitantly, unsure of what was going through my mind. "Thiss iss what iss amusing to you?"

"I mean, it's just so…so fuckin' awesome, you know? The most powerful weed I've ever smoked is actually named for me!" I started chuckling again. "Knightsweed, Knight's Ladder, Knight's Mountains—you really like naming shit for me, don't you guys?"

"Your people do not name anything after figuress of legend?"

"Well, yeah we do, we just like to mix it up!" I said. "We don't name all our shit after the same fuckin' guy, man, come on! We like to mix it up! Like, lime-in-the-coconut, mix it all up! Fuck, wait…wait, no, it's lime-in-the-coconut, _drink_ 'em both up… Shit, I always mix it up… Wait…" And before I knew it, I found myself ass-deep in another fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I wheezed, wiping the tears from my eyes. "What the fuck was I just talking about?"

Burning Dusk was really starting to look confused, by now. "…I believe you were talking about fruit, and-"

"_Right!_" I crowed, snapping my fingers several times. "Right, yeah, like limes and coconuts, and…and, uh… Um… Oh fuck it, it's gone," I shrugged, losing my train of thought once more. "Man, I wish I had my ipod on me; I could really go for some Gogol Bordello right now… What about you, what music do you guys listen to? Wait, fuck, never mind—you guys don't have ipods. You guys are cobras without ipods."

"Knight, are you feeling unwell?"

"What?" I blinked. "Oh, no, I'm just high as fuck right now—nothin' to worry your scaly self over!"

It was Burning Dusk's turn to blink. "You are _what,_ right now?"

"_High,_" I answered. It then occurred to me that these people probably had their own name for being high, so I tried to explain. "It's what we call that feeling we get after we smoke. You know, colors start popping out, music sounds fuckin' amazing, movies can blow your mind…though I don't think you'd know much about that… Uh… I mean, it feels like you're floating when you get really fucked up, and… Wow, this is actually really hard to explain… You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you," I sighed, seeing Burning Dusk's blank stare. "Don't you feel all weird after smoking this shit?"

"Knightsweed can give a slightly soothing sensation about the head after it iss ssmoked, but nothing more," Burning Dusk replied, still looking at me like I had three heads.

"You mean… You… You guys really don't get high off this?" I could scarcely believe what I was hearing.

"I do not know what that meanss," Burning Dusk.

I cleared my throat and closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, focusing as hard as I could to put a few coherent thoughts together before I floated back up into the clouds. "Okay… Uh… Obviously the weed has no effect on you, but when it is burned it releases a special smoke that gets into your blood through your lungs and travels up to your brain and makes you all loopy," I spoke fast, the words tumbling out all in one breath. It was the best way I could really explain it in my current state of mind without using words like 'chemical', 'THC', or anything else that these consorts would not be familiar with. And even so, I think I just confused them even more. I decided to try again. "Knightsweed does things to my mind that it doesn't do to yours."

But I had a really hard time caring. And after a few more minutes of chilling at the council fire, there was something else that I had.

_Munchies_.

I excused myself and rose to my feet, staggering away from the council fire and joining the fray of revelers who were still getting their party on all throughout the open, middle section of the giant camp on the shore of the Forbidden River.

The next few hours were…well, they were kind of a blur. While I may have confused the hell out of the elders and clan chiefs at the council fire, I had a fucking ball with everyone else. These were the normal guys and girls, the common members of the various clans who had accompanied their leaders to the Forbidden River, hearing tales of a Trial taking place. And many of them were already drunk off of the wine that had been going around all night.

I remember eating several different kinds of meat, as well as completely demolishing an entire pot of stew. I don't know what they put in the stuff, what kind of herbs and seasonings, but it was _good!_ I started eating another bowl of soup after finishing that first pot, but I was then distracted by the music.

There were several consorts who were weaving a rousing tune with drums, pipes, and various percussion instruments, and many of their fellows were twisting in rhythm, moving about in an almost hypnotic dance. By then, I was past the clouds and in outer space—I still don't remember very much of what happened; mostly flashes.

I remember singing Party Rock at the top of my lungs—even all the parts that didn't have words—and shuffling on one of the stone tables. I may have even managed to shoot fire from one of my fingers, at some point. I also remember teaching several of the more intoxicated consorts how to do the worm; they were able to do it much better than I ever could—a side-effect of being a snake, I suppose.

I then remember stumbling behind one of the teepees and heaving my stomach out onto the grass, trying my hardest to avoid splattering my feet. I'd eaten a lot, and all the moving around I'd been doing hadn't exactly helped all that food stay where it was.

Eventually, the music faded away and the festivities died down. I wasn't sure how much longer it would be until dawn, but we had to have been up all night. At least, it _felt_ like it'd been all night…

I was starting to come back down as I trudged back into my teepee. I grabbed what remained of my shirt and pulled it back on, yawning as I threw myself down onto my blanket. I was out cold barely ten seconds after I laid down my head.

I didn't even get to dream on Prospit, tonight, because it felt like I'd just closed my eyes when they suddenly flew back open. I could hear sounds coming from outside; loud, distracting sounds…but they were not the same sounds of earlier, the sounds of a wild celebration. I heard screams, whooshing bursts of flame, animalistic growls and roars, and clanging metal.

There was a battle going on outside.


	13. II Chapter 13: Raising the Stakes

Chapter Thirteen: Raising the Stakes

I suppressed a yawn, stumbling out of my teepee. It was daytime out here—morning or afternoon, I couldn't really tell. If I had to guess, though, I'd say it was still morning. The rain was still coming down pretty hard, but I seemed to have retained my ability to redirect the raindrops, keeping me dry even when I was standing in the middle of a rainstorm.

There were millions of dew droplets adorning the grass, the gentle roar of the sky rivers falling into the lake continued to thunder in the distance. All in all, it seemed like another beautiful morning in the Land of Rain and Rivers.

Oh, right, except for the bloody fight raging all throughout the camps as hordes of imps, reinforced by ogres and a few larger underlings I did not recognize, descended upon the teepees in their never-ending quest to wreak havoc. Yeah, I forgot to mention that little detail. Doesn't seem like a very beautiful morning anymore, eh?

Well, it _wasn't_. A number of dead consorts littered the ground—more than I really wanted to count—taken by surprise in the initial assault, I would assume. Those who had not met their end prematurely in the opening attacks were now fighting back, fighting desperately to avoid being turned into mincemeat.

I barely had time to grab my weapon—an alchemized hybrid of a Bowie hunting knife, a red lightsaber, and a Roman gladius—from my strife specibus before a ball of fire slammed into my teepee, setting the whole thing alight. A winged banshee screeched down from above, fire belching from its throat.

It occurred to me that maybe Tami had been right; maybe it _was_ my fault that these creatures had wings, from when my Roman eagle statuette got prototyped. I'd blamed it on Cass, who'd prototyped her dragon sculpture…but I think the consequence of her prototyping was to give the banshees the ability to breathe fire, not flight.

Our collective bad.

I didn't bother engaging the banshee; it was long gone before I even got my bearings. As I looked to the side, I saw a yellow-scaled cobra go down under a group of imps, amber-hued blood spurting from a gaping wound on his neck. I made my way over to the fallen consort, greeting one of the imps from behind. And by _greet,_ of course, I mean repeatedly stabbing the little shit into a never-ending sleep.

The other three imps all jumped me, but I was ready for them. I got the first one through the throat as it leaped at me, simply raising my blade and thrusting it forward slightly, letting the imp's momentum do the rest. Yanking the blade free, I jumped to the side, dodging the other two imps as they landed. And as they both turned towards me once more, I suddenly had a brief moment of inspiration.

I think it was time for a little telekinetic workout.

I allowed my blade to fade away, returning to its strife specibus, leaving me unarmed. My earlier suspicions seemed to have been right—those bursts of foreign thoughts, when it felt like someone hijacked my mind…they had not gone away. There were pieces of knowledge that I was remembering right now that I know had not come from my own mind.

I knew how to do things I hadn't known how to do, before. Almost like waking up one morning and suddenly understanding the basics of physics—just the basics, mind you; you didn't know everything there was to know about the subject…but you were suddenly able to understand jack shit, when just the day before you hadn't even known the first thing about physics.

I raised my hands, focusing on the two imps, and clenched them into fists, clapping them together. My hands flared with a very faint, barely visible amber glow, and the two imps were torn off their feet, suddenly, flying through the air and crashing into each other. Their heads slammed together with a sickening crunch, their bodies thudding to the ground before being reduced to piles of grist.

The yellow-scaled consort was still writhing on the ground feebly, his blood pooling out into the grass around him. I didn't really think there was anything I could do for him, but I crouched down anyway to examine the wound. The consort grew still when he saw who I was.

"I am dying, I think," the consort managed to speak, despite the horrible wound in his throat. "Never thought…never thought I'd go like thiss… Bessted by an _imp,_ of all thingss…" the dying consort looked up at me, his pupils relaxing from their slit shape into their more round state. I didn't really know what to say—I hadn't meant to get dragged into this guy's dying moments—but he thankfully kept talking before I had a chance to reply. "Red of eyess… _He_ Who Walkss Tall…"

And with that, the cobra lapsed into a fit of gurgling noises and light convulsions, and then fell silent and stopped moving. I don't think he even had the chance to bleed to death—I think he actually suffocated on his own blood. Even if I'd had the time to put something over the wound and apply pressure, it was simply too deep. Nothing could have saved him.

I left the dead consort where he lay—no point in lingering. That was the first time I'd ever really seen a person die…like, right in front of me, you know? You see it happen all the time in movies, in games—you may even see a dead body or two at funerals—but having someone actually _die_ right in front of you…

Well, it's really fucking unsettling, and that's all I'm going to say about it.

Another imp was charging at me as I moved away from the yellow-scaled cobra's corpse. My mouth twisted in a scowl as the little shit ran towards me, claws outstretched, teeth bared. Remembering the sound the yellow-scaled cobra had made as he died, I clenched my right hand into a fist and punched it forward, feeling whatever it was in my mind that allowed me to control my Aspect, flexing like a muscle, as if I were bench-pressing.

The imp flew backwards, quickly vanishing into the rain. I probably didn't kill it, but it would definitely be out of the fight when it landed.

I made my way into the central hub of the camp, where the celebrations from last night had taken place. It was almost like my body was functioning on autopilot to a degree, in regards to the telekinesis. Somehow, I was able to wreck these imps' shit with my mind, without too much effort, and without really thinking about what I was doing. And it occurred to me that if I started overthinking it, if I started to dwell too much on how I was able to use my Aspect… I think I would lose my mojo. Until the Force Aspect became as much a part of me as my limbs, I'd just have to keep on doing things the way I was currently doing them.

I was nearly out of breath by the time I reached the center of the camp. I was using my Aspect with surprising ease, but it seemed to come at the price of physical exertion, just like any other muscle. Maybe this would decrease, or even go away over time, but I was just learning how to be a telekinetic. I had a lot of hurdles to jump over.

As I fought my way through groups of imps, as well as an ogre or two, I became aware of something in the very back of my mind. I kept thinking of a ladder, with rungs of many different colors. But it was incomplete. Only a handful of the bottommost rungs were colored—all the rungs above them were dark, colorless. But as I killed more and more underlings, more rungs started to shine with color.

It was the weirdest thing…always there, always present in the back of my mind, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time I was able to tune it out. I soon noticed that I only saw this weird ladder every time a new rung was illuminated.

I didn't exactly have any time to think on this, though—the underlings were proving themselves to be capable distractions.

I finally reached the place where we'd had the council fire, just in time to see one of the consorts—a smaller, red-scaled cobra—go flying, struck down by an ogre. As the ogre stepped down on the cobra's body and raised its fists for a finishing blow, I recognized the cobra as none other than Glimmering Scales, the one who'd first found me at the hill where my first gate had dumped me out.

The yellow-scaled consort still fresh in my mind, I resolved not to repeat that experience with Scales. I couldn't throw ogres around with telekinesis the way I could with imps—bigger size, and all that—but I really didn't need to. A smaller push could achieve the same end when concentrated on the right area.

I clenched my right hand into a fist while I held my left hand outwards, slowly drawing it back towards me. The ogre gave a surprised grunt as an invisible force dragged it towards me, away from Glimmering Scales. That was when I punched my right hand forward, the resulting push tearing the ogre's head clean off, even while its headless corpse continued to be dragged towards me. That is, until it dissolved into grist.

I took a moment to steady myself, feeling a brief wave of nausea and dizziness after that last kill. I'd have to take a rest, soon, or else I'd probably pass out.

Glimmering Scales picked himself up off the ground, righting himself and regaining his balance before rearing his head back up. His fangs were dripping venom, stained red with underling blood. "You could not have done that yessterday," the red-scaled cobra remarked, still breathing heavily from his tussle with the ogre.

"Well, gee, a lot's happened since then," I shot back. "Ogre beat you up too badly?"

"No, I am fine," Scales replied, before adding a hesitant, "Thank you. _Knight_."

Seeing how difficult it'd probably been for Scales to come out with an apology like that, to me, I accepted it without any qualms. "Yeah, don't mention it. Just don't hesitate to…you know…return the favor, if…yeah, let's just keep killing these asshats."

Glimmering Scales had a sword, carried in a sheath on his back, but he decided not to use it while we fought together. Maybe he just wanted to use his telekinesis, seeing that my Aspect was the only thing _I_ was using, at the moment.

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my muscles from quivering too much as we tore through several more waves of the little shits. I mean, I'm not a weak person, and I could always hold my own in gym class. I even got a good workout from all the times I've strifed with my Sis…but my constant use of my Aspect was really starting to tire me out.

The last straw came when Scales and I were attacked by another ogre. We'd just slain a pair of the larger, brutish underlings when another ogre came at us from behind. We barely had time to get the hell out of the path of the ogre's fists, and we ended up diving in opposite directions.

I rolled back up to my feet and spun around, flinging out both of my hands and using my Aspect to seize the ogre. I began to drag it forward, getting ready to take off its head like the first ogre I killed here, when I stopped short. Suddenly, the ogre just stopped moving, and I couldn't make it budge no matter how hard I pulled. It was like trying to drag a truck out of quicksand using only a rope.

"_Releasse the beasst!_" Glimmering Scales exclaimed from the other side of the ogre. "It iss mine!"

I could see the red-scaled cobra behind the ogre, trying to pull the underling towards it just like me. Gradually, I started to lose my grip. I don't know why, but the fact that I was losing my grip started to irritate me. Like, a _lot_. "Fuck that, I had him first!" I shouted back, redoubling my own grip.

And so we continued to argue for maybe half a minute, both of us refusing to let the creature go so the other could slay it. Many of my muscles were already seizing up as our conflict escalated. I was really starting to hit rock bottom in terms of energy, here, but I still refused to give up. What can I say, stubbornness is one of my flaws.

In the end, both of us won. Or maybe neither of us, depending on how you look at it.

There was a horrible ripping, tearing noise, accompanied by agonized, animalistic screams. And then I was suddenly on my back, looking up into the sky, heaving for breath. I felt like I'd just run a marathon while pumping weights. I was _drained_.

I think I actually might have passed out for a few seconds, because I don't remember falling onto my back. One moment I was standing, fighting Scales for that ogre, and the next moment I was lying on the ground. I took another deep breath and rolled onto my side, slowly propping myself up on an elbow.

The ogre had been torn clean in half—skull and all. The telekinetic grips of Scales and myself must have grown strong enough, while remaining equal in strength to each other, that eventually the ogre's body was incapable of remaining in one piece while being pulled in opposite directions. As I watched, the half of the corpse that I'd had control over dissolved into a pile of grist, but the other half remained. I guess underlings only turned into grist when _I_ killed them.

I had to look away from the other half of the corpse—underling or not, it was fucking disgusting. And besides, I really didn't want to throw up two days in a row.

I pushed myself up onto my knees, preparing myself for the next attack…but none came. As I looked around, I saw the underlings fleeing through the teepees, making their way away from our camp, leaving behind their dead. The ground was littered with corpses—predominantly imps, but there were also a good number of fallen consorts. Many of the teepees had been set on fire during the skirmish, but the rain was putting them out before they spread.

I don't know why the underlings suddenly decided to cut and run, but I certainly wasn't complaining. I wouldn't have lasted another five minutes, after all the juice I spent on fighting Scales over that dumb ogre. I still don't know why I'd done that… I probably wouldn't have been able to release the ogre even if I wanted to. Maybe that was just the Knight inside me…

The next few hours were a blur of activity. The wounded consorts were immediately taken in for treatment by the healers, and the twelve clans of the Western Fires gathered up all their dead. The dead would be taken back to their ancestral homes and given proper burials in the forests. Others got to work taking down the surviving teepees, breaking camp and getting the clans ready to move.

I took a breather, shoving several skins of water down my throat and having some bread to eat. Once I felt able, I joined the frenzy of activity, working alongside Glimmering Scales and Burning Dusk. Those of us who were not taking care of the wounded, clearing the dead, or breaking camp were busy gathering the corpses of all the dead underlings, dragging them to the center of camp, right where the council fire had been the night before.

"What's everyone's rush?" I asked Burning Dusk as I grabbed body of an imp under its arms, dragging it towards the unlit fire. "We won, didn't we?"

"I wass afraid of thiss," Burning Dusk said to me. "Word hass already gotten around that the Knight hass come… I called for celebrationss after your triumph, but I wass a fool to think Hyperion would not dissturb our peace…"

"Those underlingss were merely the forerunnerss of whatever force Hyperion hass ssent to crush uss," Glimmering Scales explained to me. "The impss usually lose patience and attack their victimss before their larger, more powerful brethren arrive. That iss what hass happened here. We musst now leave before the larger beasstss arrive, and return to the ssafety of our foresstss."

By then, we'd reached the spot where we'd had the council fire. Instead of a normal fire made from logs, sticks, and twigs, however, there was only a pile of headless underling corpses. Consorts would drag the bodies of the dead underlings to the corpse pile, take their heads, and throw the bodies into the mound.

I picked my imp up and started to toss it into the pile, but Burning Dusk stopped me. "Wait," the chieftain of Clan Nathair telekinetically grabbed my arm. "Remove the beast's head, first. Leave it on the ground."

I did as I was told, retrieving the Roman Bowie from my strife specibus. I activated the blade's energy envelope—a trait inherited from a lightsaber, one of the three items used to create the Roman Bowie. With the energy field humming around the blade, I was able to effortlessly decapitate the imp, tossing its corpse into the pile and leaving its head where it lay.

By the time I got back to the pile, it had grown taller by several feet, and there were so many heads littering the ground around it that it was hard to find places to put my feet. I ended up dragging dead imps over to the corpse pile for the next hour or so, until our camp was completely cleared of dead—both underling and consort.

The wounded had already been taken away from this place, beginning the journey back to their home forests. The ones who had broken camp had also gone on their way, leaving just those of us who'd been clearing the dead underlings.

Thunder was booming in the near distance, and lightning flashed every minute or so. The wind was picking up and the rain intensifying, but I was still able to continue redirecting the precipitation, remaining perfectly dry. When the last corpse had been beheaded and thrown into the corpse pile, Burning Dusk, Dancing Shadow, and ten other consorts formed a circle around the pile of corpses. I recognized them all from the council fire last night—they were the clan chiefs. None of them had died in the attack, thankfully.

The twelve clan chiefs all took in a deep breath and bared their fangs. Large balls of flame flared into existence in front of each of the chieftains, balls of fire which roared forward like flamethrowers, straight into the pile of corpses, setting it alight. Even the downpour of rain was not enough to extinguish this fire—it would rage until the corpses that fueled it were nothing but carbonized husks.

The heads of the imps were left on the ground where they lay, but the heads of the ogres and the larger underlings were all put on spikes made of sharpened support poles from destroyed teepees. Even the half-head, from that one ogre Scales and I ripped apart, had been spiked. That was probably one of the most disturbing things I've seen in my entire life.

The members of the various clans all bid one another farewell before parting ways and heading home.

"Let Hyperion'ss hordess come, and let them find our little message," Burning Dusk admonished as I made my way away from the Forbidden River and into the hills with the members of Clan Nathair. The chieftain turned to me, looking at me with…could it be respect? I mean, I'm sure he respected me before, but now that I'd actually proven myself in a fight… "Perhapss thiss wass your true Trial," the chieftain remarked. "Climbing a ladder of bladess iss one thing, but ssurviving your firsst battle using only your Vis…that takess ssomething elsse."

"Will I ever be able to stop having to constantly prove myself?" I sighed. "I mean, how many times do I have to kill underlings with my mind before everyone will stop wondering if I'm the Knight? Because I _am_."

"Oh, there iss no longer any doubt that you are the Knight. The whole of the Western Fires will have faith in you when word of thiss fight goess around," Burning Dusk assured me. "Unfortunately, your Trial hass only jusst begun. But I have a good idea of how you are meant to continue, and gain valuable experience in the process. We shall sspeak on thiss later."

* * *

><p>The walk back to the forests inhabited by Clan Nathair took us only a day and a half, as opposed to the two full days it took us to reach the Forbidden River. The prospect of attack from behind probably spurred us on faster than we would have moved had there been no danger nearby.<p>

I remember asking Burning Dusk why Hyperion didn't just burn down the forests, if the people of the Western Fires were being such thorns in his side, but the clan chief merely replied, "Hyperion iss ruthless, but he iss not inssane. He desiress to rule thiss world, but he will have no world left if he burnss the foresstss."

Five consorts from Clan Nathair lost their lives yesterday, killed in the surprise attack of the underlings. Their bodies had been recovered from the Trial grounds, covered by blankets, and brought back home by their surviving kinsmen. Each of them came from their own family, and there was a brief period of mourning in all five of Clan Nathair's villages that lasted for a day, followed by a burial ceremony that involved interring the bodies into the ground, then planting trees over them.

Life went on in the villages, though perhaps not as it always had. After all, a figure of legend for these consorts was now walking and living among them… I mean, how would people feel if Jesus suddenly showed up one day and started living in their town? Then again, with that in mind, I actually think these cobra people were handling my presence very well. Much better than Humans ever would… If Jesus ever came back, he probably wouldn't get a moment of peace, but I-

_Fuck,_ I really need to stop comparing myself to Jesus. It's really just the 'figure of legend coming to life' deal that we share. Other than that, Jesus and I probably have nothing in common. Unless he likes Hans Zimmer.

Three days after our return to the villages, Burning Dusk held another council fire, and he summoned both me and Glimmering Scales, his son.

I ducked out of the Big House—that's what I called the giant, wigwam-like, communal cabin in the centre of the village—and headed up to the edge of the ridge, where the council fires were always held.

The rain had subsided, relaxing into a light drizzle. The view from the council fire spot really was breathtaking; the main village of Clan Nathair was built on a plateau, and the council fire spot was at the very edge of this plateau, allowing for a view of much of the forests below, as well as the mountains in the far distance. I could see faint motes of light in the night—other villages, belonging to the various clans of the Western Fires. This particular forest was the largest one on LORAR, and Clan Nathair shared it with two smaller clans—Clans Anguis and Nyoka. I wasn't very surprised to learn that the consorts called it the Knightswood. I wanted to start keeping a list of everything these people have named after me.

Cardinals flitted through the tops of the trees, chirping quietly to one another in whatever strange language they used. The five elders were sitting in their places around the council fire, their backs to the edge of the ridge, the luminous violet night sky shining behind them. Burning Dusk also sat among them, next to Falling Sun—the oldest of the elders.

I ran into Glimmering Scales as I started climbing the steep path that wound from the edge of the village up to the council fire. The red-scaled cobra was not wearing his sword, and he seemed to be going in the same direction as me. "What brings you out here, this time of night?" I asked the younger cobra.

"My father ssummonss me to the fire," Scales replied. "And you?"

"Same thing. Guess we get to go together."

Scales's only response was a low grunt.

We approached the council fire together. Scales bowed his head down to the ground for a moment, greeting the council fire with, "_Honored Elderss._" I copied what Scales did, and no one called for my immediate execution, so I think I did it right.

"Approach and join our fire."

I sat down cross-legged on our side of the council fire. I was allowed to sit on a rock to give me the extra height needed to see everyone on the other side of the flames—the consorts did not need this extra boost, as they were already able to extend their necks and upper bodies up high enough by themselves.

"We gather here to disscuss the fate of the Knight, and that of the chieftain'ss offsspring," Falling Sun declared.

"You brought up an interessting point, sseveral dayss ago, Knight," Burning Dusk said to me. "You assked me when you would be able to sstop having to prove yoursself."

Oh great, back to this. "Yeah, you said I already had."

"To _uss_—I ssaid you had already proven yoursself to _uss,_" Burning Dusk reminded me. "Unfortunately, thiss iss not enough. We of the Western Fires are not the only people of thiss land. The clanss of the Northern Fires and of the Desert Fires fell to Hyperion'ss conquesst long ago. They are little more than sslavess, now."

"We are the ssmallesst of the three peopless," Grey Mist, the reddish-brown-scaled elder sitting to Falling Sun's left, explained. "We are the descendants of the People of the Foresstss, one of the three Great Fires of ancient timess. Though Hyperion ssent wave after wave of all mannerss of beasstss and monssterss to bring uss under his rule, the mightiesst of his underlingss were not able to contesst with our masstery of these foresstss. The clanss of the Northern Fires and of the Desert Fires eventually ssuccumbed to the mighty Denizen, but our peopless were able to defend our forests, where we have lived ever ssince."

"You can disspensse with the hisstory lesson, Grey Mist," a third elder sighed.

Burning Dusk quickly jumped in before Grey Mist could give a retort. "The point iss that in more recent timess, Hyperion hass had the capability of crushing uss—all he had to do was ssend all of his forcess into the Knightswood, and we would have drowned under their numberss. But he refrained from doing sso because we are the ssmallesst of the three peopless, and we pose very little threat to the mighty Denizen on our own."

"But thiss hass changed, with your arrival," Falling Sun continued, building off what the clan chief said. "If there wass ever a persson who would be able to help liberate the ensslaved clanss, it would be the Knight. It would be you. Ssuch a persson could possibly unite all of the clanss and even pose a direct challenge to Hyperion and hiss underling hordess. The mighty Denizen knowss thiss, and the red birdss have told uss that he hass sstarted massing his forcess once more. The Denizen iss going to war."

"And thiss iss where you come in, Knight," Burning Dusk nodded to me. "You musst prove yoursself to be that which Hyperion fearss. You musst leave the Knightswood and travel to the ssteppess of the north, and to the ssands of the easst. The ensslaved clanss have losst their hope…but perhapss a figure of legend can rekindle it."

I blinked. "So… What you're saying is that you want me to go and spark a few rebellions?"

"In a nutshell, yess," Falling Sun nodded.

"Okay, yeah, you could've just told me that and I would've been fine."

"And what of me?" Glimmering Scales, who had thus far been silent, spoke up.

Falling Sun tasted the air, his forked tongue flitting out and back into his mouth almost too fast for me to see. "You fought valiantly againsst Hyperion'ss attack on the Forbidden River. Truly, your Vis iss much more developed than anyone elsse of your age. It iss the opinion of thiss council of elderss that you be allowed to begin your Trial early. Your father hass already given uss his blessing."

Scales looked up sharply, blinking rapidly in surprise several times. "I… I would be honored to… Uh…" the younger, red-scaled consort had to take a deep breath in order to find his voice. "When may I leave?"

"That will be disscussed momentarily," Grey Mist replied.

Scales drew himself up to his full height. "I will bring you the head of nothing less than a-"

"Your Trial will not be like the Trialss of your peerss," Falling Sun held up a hand, quelling Scales. "You have already proven your ability in combat, but there iss more to masstering your Vis than proficiency in battle. We have decreed that you shall accompany the Knight on his quesst. You will help him masster his Vis; and in doing sso, you might even masster your own."

This time, Scales blinked only once. I quietly slid a few inches away from the red-scaled consort—he was pretty bad at hiding his emotions, and I feel like I probably could have cooked some eggs and bacon just by placing them on his head. Throw in the fact that he is telekinetic, and I really didn't want to be sitting right next to him.

"Forgive me, elderss… I'm not sure I undersstand…" I could tell Scales was working really hard to keep his voice level. "You… You are not allowing me to undergo a normal Trial?"

"Youthss undergo their Trial and become full warriorss at age twenty-five. You are only twenty-two. Your Trial iss, by itss very nature, abnormal," Falling Sun reminded the youth. "There are many who would give their tailss to join the Knight on his quesst. There will be no further disscussion on the matter—it iss already decided."

Scales exhaled sharply through his nostrils. I could tell that there was a lot more he wanted to say, but he retained what remained of his composure and bowed down low. "_Honored Elderss,_" he muttered, before turning around and slithering silently off into the darkness, leaving me alone with the others.

"I fear it will be ssome time before he can reconcile himsself to his tassk," Burning Dusk said to me apologetically. "But I know him well. He wass ready for his Trial, ready to go out and bring back the head of the largesst underling he could find. He will think we are disshonoring him by ssending him to teach you, but fear not; he will ssoon realize jusst how much more this quesst will do for him than bringing back a head ever would."

"I'm not quite sure I'm looking forward to him being a teacher," I admitted hesitantly.

"I do not think I would either, were I in your position," Burning Dusk broke the quietness of the conversation with a hearty bark of laughter. "He may be teaching you to masster your Vis—the force of your mind—but he will alsso end up becoming a sstudent. In teaching you, he _himsself_ will grow."

"So, then…" I rose to my feet, more than ready to leave the fire. "When do we leave?"

Burning Dusk's grin widened slightly. "Tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT II<strong>


	14. III Chapter 14: Hearts and Diamonds

**Act III: Concerning a Hero's Quest For Self-Discovery**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Fourteen: Hearts and Diamonds<span>

_-turbulentGamer started hassling anomalousThespian-_

TG: About fucking time you got in touch with me!  
>TG: Man I haven't seen or heard from you in over a week<br>AT: yeah, you've always been offline every time i check, bro!  
>TG: I know<br>TG: I've been up to my ass in scaly winged Jurassic creatures who just so happen to be sentient scaly winged Jurassic creatures  
>TG: These consorts are crazy dude they remind me so much of the Air Nomads from Avatar<br>AT: yeah, tell me about it.  
>AT: mine are cobras who remind me of native americans.<br>AT: had to climb a fucking sword ladder to make them actually believe that i'm their precious knight.  
>TG: Wow I'm kinda jealous<br>AT: why the fuck would you ever be jealous of something like that?  
>TG: I went through some sort of trial as well<br>TG: It was pretty rough  
>TG: Rougher than climbing a ladder haha<br>AT: um…  
>AT: it wasn't a ladder, it was a <span>sword<span> ladder. sword blades instead of rungs.  
>AT: get the picture?<br>TG: Ah  
>TG: Okay that's what you meant by 'sword ladder'<br>TG: How'd you manage to climb something like that  
>AT: oh, you know. shenanigans.<br>TG: Hmm well then I don't know which of us really had it worse  
>AT: how do you beat having to climb a ladder of swords?<br>TG: My consorts pushed me off a mountain  
>AT: …<br>AT: dude, we really need to hang out, sometime.  
>TG: I know man!<br>TG: We need to get together and play some halo  
>TG: Fuck all this seven gates bullshit<br>AT: all this 'consorts putting us through mortally dangerous trials' bullshit…  
>TG: Yes fuck it all I say<br>TG: So did you combine your laptop with your sunglasses or something  
>TG: Or are you at your house<br>AT: no, i left my computer at my house.  
>AT: i'm dreaming, at the moment.<br>TG: Oh you're using the computer in your dream room  
>TG: Yeah I do that a lot too<br>TG: Don't always feel like going outside  
>TG: I hate the whispers<br>TG: Gino and Cass love listening to the gods but they freak me the fuck out  
>TG: They freak Gwen out too so don't think I'm just being weird<br>AT: gods?  
>TG: Right your sprite went all ballistic<br>TG: You wouldn't know about the gods  
>TG: Hell <span>I<span> don't know very much about them  
>TG: They live in the Furthest Ring and they whisper to our dream selves<br>AT: i've never heard anyone whispering to me when i'm dreaming… am i doing it wrong?  
>TG: No no you're a Prospit dreamer<br>TG: Prospit is way too far away from the Furthest Ring for you to hear the gods  
>TG: Only Derse dreamers can hear them<br>TG: It's pretty much our equivalent of the Skaian clouds  
>TG: You see all sorts of crazy shit when the golden moon is closest to Skaia<br>TG: I hear all kinds of crazy shit when the obsidian moon is furthest from Skaia  
>AT: okay where exactly is derse? i mean, i keep hearing about it, but i can't find anything in the sky that looks like a big-ass purple city-planet.<br>TG: You don't know the layout of the incipisphere?  
>TG: Fuck sorry I keep forgetting your sprite went nuts<br>TG: Allow me to fill the knowledge gap  
>TG: In the very center of the incipisphere is Skaia<br>TG: My sprite described it to me as a dormant crucible of pure unlimited creative potential or some shit  
>TG: An energy source of sorts – it's all pretty weird and hard to understand<br>TG: Everything orbits around Skaia  
>TG: Prospit is close enough to Skaia that its moon can brush down through its clouds during the solar eclipse<br>TG: Further out are the eight planets  
>TG: <span>Our<span> planets  
>TG: Then there's a huge asteroid belt beyond our planets that my sprite called the 'Veil'<br>TG: And beyond that is Derse.  
>AT: that's pretty fucking far away.<br>AT: do the people there worship you, too?  
>TG: …<br>TG: I mean yeah they do but it's kinda weird  
>TG: We're technically <span>fighting<span> the Dersites because they want to destroy Skaia and we're supposed to stop that from happening  
>TG: But we're still like celebrities to the common Dersites<br>TG: Like their mascots or something  
>TG: Like I said it's complicated and weird<br>AT: if we're fighting the dersites, why don't they just kill your dream selves? i mean, you're right fucking there!  
>TG: That's part of the weird and complicated shit<br>TG: I think there are certain rules that exist that prevent the Dersite monarchs from taking action against our dream selves  
>AT: well, that sucks for you guys, having to live in a place filled with people who we're fighting.<br>AT: the prospitians fucking love us.  
>AT: tami and the bitch woke up in their towers, just the other day<br>AT: and there were so many prospitians in the streets i

* * *

><p>I blinked several times, barely having time to recover from the blow before I was ripped from my seat and thrown into the opposite wall, over my bed.<p>

I'd just been chatting with Theo, when suddenly something grabs the back of my head and slams my face into the keyboard. I didn't break anything, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. Because it _did_. A _lot_.

Swearing under my breath, I picked myself up off the ground, but my assailant was already shoving aside my bed and coming after me once more. I barely got a glimpse of the attacker before the next round of beatdowns came. He was a giant brute—easily seven feet tall, with shiny, ebony skin. I quickly realized that it was the same kind of carapace-like skin that the Prospitians had, only it was midnight black in color instead of alabaster. His face was a mean and crude one, and it looked like it was too small for his head.

This brute had a giant battleaxe across his back, but he wasn't using it. He didn't _need_ to—he felt strong enough to snap me in half like a twig. Instead, the dark-skinned carapacian reached into his coat and drew out a thin knife, holding it limply in his left hand.

Just as I got back to my feet, the carapacian brute seized me by the throat, and he started to squeeze. I hammered at his grip with my fists, my feet flailing uselessly in the air. It was no use—this guy was like a pain sponge. He just seemed to absorb every blow I landed on him.

I was seeing dark spots at the edges of my vision, and they were gradually coming in closer and closer. I needed to get myself some air, and fast.

The thing about my dream self is that I get a lot more absent-minded when I'm on Prospit then I ever am while awake. This was kind of weird, because I always feel more awake, more…more _alive_ when I'm dreaming on Prospit, but I still fell victim to the absentmindedness and occasional stupidity of our dream selves. And that was why it didn't occur to me to use my Aspect until I'd already been half-strangled.

Still, better late than never.

Surprisingly, it was much easier to use my Aspect while dreaming on Prospit than it ever was for me when I'm awake. I mean, we have difficulty using our powers in the beginning because they've been dormant our entire lives. But while we're sleeping, I guess a lot of the psychological barriers between us and our Aspects are no longer there.

I balled my hands into fists, and they started to shine with that familiar, faint amber glow that seemed to appear every time I used my Aspect. I took a deep breath, met the carapacian brute's gaze, and struck. I put enough juice into that attack to knock an ogre flat on its ass for a while, but this guy just took it like a champ, barely even sliding back from the telekinetic blow.

His mouth twisted into a leer. "The Queen said you'd try that, kid," he chuckled. His voice was low and raspy, and it was laced with a thick, harsh accent that reminded me a lot of the stereotypical angry Brooklyn cab driver. He held up his left hand, which he was using to hold his knife, showing off a small, amber ring. "Think we'd come after youse guys without proper protection?"

And with that, the brute let go of my throat…but I still couldn't breathe. There was still something squeezing the life out of me, but… I then realized that it was the brute, using telekinesis to strangle me. This fucking douche was going all Vader on me. _He had my powers._

Pain. I felt some pain, right around the right side of my chest… I looked down, saw the dark-skinned carapacian brute's knife, buried up to its grip in my chest. A clean thrust, right between the ribs… This guy obviously didn't have the patience to wait for me to die of suffocation. I found that I was having trouble breathing. I got a metallic taste in my mouth, and when I coughed, I could feel something wet splattering down onto my shirt. It wasn't saliva.

"_Must've… Must've_…_punctured a lung_…" I could hear myself murmuring.

"Now, _that_ just made my day," the brute chuckled. "All youse Heroes, y'all think yer all invincible with yer fancy-schmancy powers. Right up until someone goes an' throws yer powers right back in yer face."

What happened next, I really can't say for certain. If my body were run on AA batteries, it would've felt like someone took those batteries out and replaced them with a fucking Iron Man arc-reactor. And if you don't know what an arc reactor is, then watch the Iron Man movies, and you'll find out. It was a surge of energy from some deep crevice of my mind that I never knew existed, unleashed by the raw subconscience of my dream self.

There was a blinding explosion of amber light, and the carapacian brute's telekinetic grip around my throat was shattered. The brute himself was thrown across the room and into my computer desk. As for me… I was falling.

I could feel the rush of wind against my face, and I nearly closed my eyes for a few moments, but I forced myself to keep them open. If I let them close, they'd probably never open again. I righted myself and soared back up into the sky before I could splatter myself all over the streets of the golden moon below, bathing in Skaia's radiance.

Skaia's warm rays of light felt so much comfortable now than they ever had before… God, it was so tempting to just close my eyes and float along with the breeze, maybe take a quick nap…

_No! No naps!_

I'd been dipping below the tops of the buildings while I thought of sleeping, but I wrenched myself back into the air. It was getting harder and harder to breathe—I honestly have no idea how I was able to make it _this_ far. A normal person wouldn't have even made it out of the room, I would think. I faintly remembered one of the last things my Sprite had said to me, back when I first arrived in the Land of Rain and Rivers.

_You're a goddamn Knight. Knights can get sliced up within an inch of their lives, and they can still keep right on going_.

Well, that was one thing my Sprite seemed to have gotten right.

On some level of my mind, I knew exactly where I was going, but that was just primal instinct. Reacting to my chest wound without even thinking about it. I already knew that there was no way I would be able to heal that, but maybe I could get some help. I mean, I'm just trying to rationalize my actions—at the time, I didn't realize what I was doing until I was able to see my destination.

The dream tower rose above the curvature of the golden moon's horizon, growing larger and larger as I hurtled through the sky towards it. When the tower came into view, my weariness seemed to subside just a tiny bit, and I flew towards it with a renewed energy. My wound was bleeding openly, now—the telekinetic blast back in my dream room must have ended up tearing the knife free. And I knew that, when stabbed or impaled by something, you're not supposed to pull it out because it'll make you bleed ten times worse.

Well, I was bleeding ten times worse. The top of my golden-yellow Prospit pajamas was already stained brown and red with my blood. As I neared the approaching dream tower, my vision started to go, and I started getting extremely dizzy, to the point where the tower seemed to be drifting from side to side, up and down.

I slowed down as I reached the top of the dream tower, but I overshot the nearest window and ended up hitting the side of the tower. I flung out a desperate hand as I slammed into the golden stone, managing to snag the sill of the window that I was falling past. I grabbed the windowsill with my other hand and floated myself up and over, into the dream room within.

My dream room existed only in tones of green, but this one was only in tones of red. All the rooms appeared in different colors, it seemed. This dream room had a twin-sized bed, a small desk with a MacBook laptop and a desk lamp, a nightstand with an alarm clock, several posters of various punk bands adorning the walls, a sizeable collection of different instruments littering the floor on the other side of the bed, and a dresser with a red lava lamp on top.

Sleeping in the bed was a girl, dressed in golden-yellow pajamas just like me. She had short black hair—not quite as short as mine, but close—and several piercings at various points on her face. There was a nose ring—not through the septum, thank god—an industrial bar in her right ear, as well as no less than three studs in either ear. She also had a diamond stud above her left eyebrow. Smaller mouth, straight nose; people always used to joke and say that she was the female version of me—in terms of physical appearance, mind you. And while we weren't identical twins, obviously, I had to admit that we _did_ look pretty similar. Except for the eyes—she had emerald green eyes, whereas I had…well…you know.

I was losing consciousness fast. I was out of time.

I tumbled through the window into the dream room, falling in a heap onto the floor. I tried and failed to take a deep breath, falling into another painful fit of coughing. I pulled my hands away from my mouth, observing my handiwork. "Definitely not healthy cough-blood…" I wheezed to myself.

I dragged myself across the floor of the room. Because everything in this room existed in tones of red, it was hard to see all the blood that I was leaving on the carpet, which was probably for the best. I reached the bed and, in one final feat of strength, pulled myself up off the floor. I reached over and jostled the sleeping girl on her shoulder.

"_Tam…_" I groaned, grabbing her other shoulder and shaking her in earnest. "Tami! Tam…_wake up_…"

"_What the_…?" Tami Abramov's eyes snapped open and she flew upright, pushing me back off the bed and onto the floor. "What the fuck is going on? What are you doing here—are you _bleeding?_"

I kept on mumbling, no longer having the strength to do anything else but lie there on the floor. I felt Tami looking at my stab wound under my shirt. I kept telling her to help me, but I wasn't sure if she could understand a thing I was saying. It probably sounded like slurred gibberish. And so my last act before losing consciousness was not one of strength, but of communication. Focusing every last bit of willpower I had into verbal form.

"Tam… Your Aspect… Do the Lifey thing…"

* * *

><p>My sudden inability to breathe was what woke me up. There was a thin line of fire around my throat that was cutting off all my air. I tore at my throat with my fingers, felt what was strangling me. It was a thin wire—a garrote. God damn it all, it was like my dream all over again…<p>

I didn't even wait to see if whoever the fuck this guy was—I think he was surprised that I had woken up, and I took advantage of this. I forced myself up onto my knees and drove an elbow back into my would-be murderer's belly. The attacker's flesh comprised of a rigid black carapace, as well—exactly like my attacker on Prospit.

My blow made the attacker falter, but not enough for him to lose his grip on the garrote. That was no problem, though—I only wanted to buy myself enough time to retrieve the Roman Bowie from my strife specibus. I thrust the medium-sized blade back towards my attacker, but he saw the attack coming and had ample time to evade.

I wasn't really trying to kill my attacker, there; all I wanted to do was get him off-balance so that I drop back to the ground and sweep the assailant's legs out from under him. The dark-skinned carapacian went down with an audible grunt of annoyance. Finally, he lost his grip on the garrote, and my lungs expanded to their fullest extent, sucking down all that sweet, fresh air. And with the return of the air came the return of my voice.

"_Scales!_" I shouted into the ruined wall that separated my room from the room that I knew my companion was sleeping in. "Scales, wake the fuck up!"

All I heard in reply was a bleary, murmured, "_Go sstick your head on a pike. Let me ssleep._"

"Jesus H. Christ, Scales, get the fu—_shit!_" I barely had time to drop to the ground when a sharp spear with a bright red, diamond-shaped tip came thrusting out of the darkness, impaling the air right where I'd been standing. My attacker recovered from the thrust and brought it plunging down towards my stomach, but I held out my hands and stopped the spear's movement with my Aspect. This guy was fucking _tough_ to hold back, too…but he did not seem to possess the abilities of the brutish carapacian on Prospit. My Aspect was still effective against him.

I was doing alright, but then my attacker kicked me, right between the legs. I howled in pain, clutching at my manhood, curling up into the fetal position. I don't even remember anything that I was shouting at the time, and that's probably for the best—he'd kicked pretty hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the red diamond-tipped spear come stabbing down once more…only to be halted once again.

This time, a sword came out of nowhere and knocked the spear aside, and the tip of a scaly red tail whipped out of the darkness, striking the dark carapacian on the side of his head. This sent the carapacian tumbling to the ground. The sword came at the carapacian again, but the attacker had just enough time to wrench his spear free from the ground to block the attack. He then vanished, stalking off into the darkness, leaving Scales and me alone once more.

I sat back against the crumbling stone wall of the ruined home we'd taken shelter in for the night, allowing myself to catch my breath. I was covered in a cold sweat, and I couldn't seem to stop shivering, not to mention the fact that my balls felt like red-hot embers. An image of a knife buried in my chest flashed through my mind, and I felt a sharp, phantom pain where my dream self had been stabbed. Someone had tried to kill my dream self on the golden moon while someone _else_ was silently making short work of my waking self while it slept. This was no ordinary attack—it had been organized and timed precisely.

This had been an assassination attempt.

"Knight?" Scales slithered across the room, making sure I wasn't hurt badly. "Who wass that? What hass happened?"

I took another deep breath and sat up slowly. "I don't know who that was, but I know one thing for certain," I looked up, meeting Scales's gaze. "The rules have changed."


	15. III Chapter 15: Waking Up

Chapter Fifteen: Waking Up

"_Again_."

I almost flinched. I was really growing to hate that word…

In front of me were two items; a small wooden sphere with two tiny holes on opposite sides, and a short length of string. The goal of this whole clusterfuck of a lesson was for me to telekinetically guide the string from one hole to the other. The catch was that the small wooden sphere happened to contain a maze, carved by the most skilled of artisans, and the route between the two tiny holes was a very elusive one.

Sure, you're probably reminded of what's-his-face from Greek Mythology, who ended up stringing a spiral seashell by tying a string to an ant, then luring the ant to the other end of the seashell with honey. Yeah, maybe that might've worked if my planet had ants. And even so, Scales would've just considered it to be cheating.

I think that if my teacher was a wiser, older individual, he or she would tell me that I need more patience, that I am too impulsive, or any number of things that are wrong with me. When I started swearing and threatening to shatter the box with my Bowie sword, I think an older teacher would have told me to relax, to calm myself, to 'feel' the maze with my Vis—which I learned was the consorts' word for their telekinesis—and figure out for myself where the string should go, rather than blindly trying to feed it through every passage I encountered.

Constructive criticism and shit, you know?

But I _didn't_ have an old, wise teacher. Instead, I had Glimmering Scales, and he was pissing me off even more than any self-respecting geezer ever could. He rarely spoke to me, except during our 'lessons'. And by 'lessons', I only mean every afternoon when the younger consort gave me the puzzle ball and the string, telling me to solve it.

Every time I nearly broke down in frustration, having to pluck the string from the puzzle ball every time it got snared or entered a false passage, Scales would simply tell me, "_Again_." When the profanity started to fly, and on one occasion when I even tried to throw the puzzle ball into a lake, he would just fix me with that maddening blank, emerald-eyed stare, and all he would say to me was, "_Again._"

Today was different, though. Scales still was not saying anything new, but I could tell that he wanted to. Perhaps he was just waiting until dinner. The reason for this, obviously, was the fact that there had been a double-assassination attempt just three nights ago, and I'd been on the receiving end of both of them. One black carapacian tried to kill my dream self while another black carapacian silently attempted to off my then-asleep waking self. The only reason I was still alive was because Scales had intervened just in time to stop the second assassin's killing blow.

And that sort of got me thinking…when I went to sleep here, I woke up on Prospit for the duration of my rest. But what would happen if my dream self died? Would I just have normal dreams? Or what if someone killed my waking self? Would I be dead, or would I be able to continue existing through my dream self?

These were all very thought-provoking questions. Questions that no doubt could have easily been answered by a sprite…but we all know what happened with mine. Even so, I haven't woken up on Prospit since the dual attempt on my life. On my _lives_. Maybe my dream self had died, after all.

Sorry, didn't mean to go off on a tangent, there. I just kind of have a lot going on, now, between my shenanigans on Prospit and that thing I have to do here. You know, the thing that involves me liberating the other two enslaved tribes of my consorts, and presumably joining them in battle against my denizen, Hyperion.

_That_ thing.

Or, in the meantime, that fucking puzzle ball that obstinately refused to be solved by the likes of me.

"Why don't you just ask?" I sighed, finally deciding to break the silence, allowing myself a brief respite from the damn sphere. "I know you're dying to."

"Assk about what?" Scales actually _answered_ me, which pretty much confirmed my last statement.

"Oh come on, Scales, stop bullshitting me; you know what you want to ask about," I retorted. "So, go on. Ask."

"Very well," Glimmering Scales drew himself up to his full height indignantly, quietly slithering around in circles behind me. I think this was his way of pacing. "I have sseen people like the dark man in the passt. The Old One desscribed them to our elderss in agess passt, how they were part of a Kingdom of Darkness—one of the two Lesser Sky Flames. But why did he try to kill you? And what did you mean when you ssaid 'the ruless have changed'?"

I cleared my throat hesitantly, trying to think of a good answer. "Ah… That's a bit more complicated of a question than I was expecting… I have the answers, but I think you'd have trouble believing them."

"The Knight of Force walkss among uss now," Scales replied to that. "I am sslightly more open to belief than I may have been a year ago."

"Okay, fair enough," I gingerly set down the puzzle ball, resisting the urge to crush it to oblivion with my Aspect. "Imagine you have two different bodies. When you fall asleep, you wake up in your second body. And when you fall asleep in your second body, you wake up in your first one."

I know, that's not quite how the dream selves worked—it was more like going to sleep in one body and waking up in the second…until your first body woke back up. The dream self never consciously fell asleep. But my way of explaining it would be easier for Scales to understand.

Still, it would take some convincing.

"You have two bodiess?" Scales sounded just about as skeptical as he possibly could.

"In a way," I nodded. "Did the, uh…_Old One_ tell you about Prospit?"

"Yess, we know of the Kingdom of Light."

"Okay, good. It orbits Skaia—sorry, the _Great Sky Flame,_" I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. This was really getting annoying, having to translate what I already knew into terms the consorts would understand. "There is a person living on the moon of that planet who looks exactly like me. He is my dream self, and he is sleeping at the moment. And when I go to sleep here, I will wake up on the moon of Prospit. And then my dream self will go back to sleep when I wake up back here. So yeah, I kind of do have two bodies, but only one can be awake at a time."

"I ssee…" I really wasn't sure if Glimmering Scales understood what I was saying or not. Either he did, or he had given up trying. "And the ruless?"

"Yeah, I'm really not the right person to ask about that. Apparently there is a certain set of rules that are built into this entire place, the Medium. Some of these rules are what prevent the Dersite monarchs—uh, the leaders of the Kingdom of Darkness—from directly attacking and killing our 'dream selves'," I tried to explain. _Man,_ this was really getting difficult… "The other night, before I woke up, my dream self was awake on Prospit's moon, and he was attacked by a Dersite agent. Then I woke up here just as another Dersite agent was trying to kill me in my sleep. Both of my 'selves' were attacked at the same time. This could only have been an assassination attempt…which means the Dersite monarchs have broken the rules."

"And why do they want you dead?"

"_Pff,_ fuck if I know," I could only shrug. "Whatever the overall objective of this game session is, the Dersites are opposed to it. The key to it all is Skaia, your Great Sky Flame. The Kingdom of Darkness wants to destroy it, while the Kingdom of Light tries to keep it safe. But apparently Prospit is destined to lose the war."

"Where doess that leave you?"

"Oh, we just have to magically become badasses with our Aspects in time to kill the Black King before he turns Skaia into rubble," I answered evenly. "No biggie. As you can clearly see, I've been making untold amounts of progress…"

"Your ssarcasm doess you no favorss," Scales remarked dryly. He then took notice of the puzzle ball that I was still holding, and he nodded to it. "Your puzzle remainss unssolved. Remedy that while I hunt our dinner." And with that, the red-scaled cobra stalked off into the forest, leaving me alone in the clearing we were using for our campsite.

The Knightswood really was a giant forest. It had been ten days, I think, since we left the main village of Clan Nathair. We'd been traveling east, towards the savannas inhabited by the peoples of the Desert Fires, ever since then, and we _still_ had yet to reach the forest's edge. I learned from Scales that there were three great forests in the Land of Rain and Rivers. There was, of course, the Knightswood, which Clan Nathair had _de facto_ control over, with the smaller clans also living in the forest acting as vassals of sorts. I'd noted how European this had seemed for a society that had thus far reminded me of Native Americans.

The second great forest was the Shadowed Forest, which was home to those Western clans that did not live in the Knightswood. Clan Ashei seemed to be the clan that ran affairs in this forest, acting as counterparts of a sort to Clan Nathair. They were not as powerful as the Nathair, but they came in a close second. I got the feeling that there had been multiple instances in which these two halves of the Western Fires had been in conflict with each other.

The third forest was the smallest, and it was called the Old One's Garden. Finally, it seemed that I was not the only figure of legend that these consorts named their shit after—the Old One had a forest of her own, whoever the hell she was. The Old One's Garden was the forest that surrounded the Knight's Mountains. The palace of Hyperion, my planet's denizen, rested deep within this forest, in the foothills just south of the Knight's Mountains—apparently, this is where the Forbidden River ended up. Because of this, it was decreed by the Old One that none but the Knight himself—_me_—are permitted to travel down this river, which earned it its current name.

Sorry, am I dumping too much exposition on you? I've been learning so much about the history of this planet that I think I'm going to explode if I don't just get some of it out like this. And besides, might as well get used to knowing what's what about LORAR, seeing as I'm going to be spending a lot of my time here.

I decided to try my luck at the puzzle ball again.

I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, and out. _In deeply, and out_. I imagined that I was the string, that I had a body of thread with a single guiding light at the very tip. And after breathing in one last time, I took the string with my Vis and entered the entrance hole of the puzzle ball.

Just as usual, I felt the gradual curve of the first tunnel of the wooden ball before suddenly I was being bombarded with different choices of routes for me to take. It was like following a white beam of light into a prism, and suddenly being blinded by all the different colors that exploded outwards at the point of refraction. There always seemed to be a different number of new tunnels to explore, and they always felt as if they were moving.

But it was just a wooden puzzle ball—how could the tiny, carved passages within be moving? It was impossible, just a trick of the mind. Almost like the telekinetic equivalent of an optical illusion.

I took the tunnel that felt the most 'right', but as I ventured further and further down, the string grew more difficult to pull along behind my guiding force. I turned down a second tunnel, down a third, and eventually I came to a complete stop, sensing nothing in front of me but solid wood.

_Dead end_.

I retreated back down the tunnel I'd just entered until I reached the junction it branched off from, but I did not recognize any of the other possible routes. I'd entered and come back out of the same tunnel, but somehow I'd ended up in two different parts of the puzzle ball. Now you're starting to understand why I hate this thing so much. As I tried to find my way back to the junction I'd last gone through, I just ended up getting the string even more entangled within the puzzle ball, until I couldn't even move forward anymore. The string simply refused to be pulled forward any further.

As I shook my head and returned to my senses, I could see that almost the entire length of string had already vanished inside the puzzle ball, which I had to pluck back out. Glimmering Scales was slithering back into the clearing by then, a brace of dead rodents balanced on his back, under his sword sheath. That was another thing about when I dove headfirst into the puzzle ball with that string—time seemed to pass much more quickly than usual. I would think I'd been working on the puzzle for several long minutes, only to realize that an entire hour had passed.

"Do you know why our Vis iss called what it iss?" Scales asked me as he laid the brace of rodents down on the ground and set about building a cooking fire.

"No, but I get the feeling you're about to tell me."

"_Vis_ iss the Oldspeak word for _Force,_" Scales explained. "We do not manipulate our world—we merely manipulate those _energiess_ that manipulate the world. And with those energiess at our command, we can often impose our will on our ssurroundingss, ssometimess even bringing order where there iss nothing but chaotic randomness."

I stared at Scales blankly. "I literally didn't understand a thing that just came out of your mouth."

Scales blinked once, then twice, then he turned around and returned his attention to the campfire, muttering under his breath. When he glanced back at me, all he said was, "You may think uss a ssimple people, but we undersstand our Aspect in wayss you cannot yet comprehend. And until you do… _Again_."

Scales finished placing the firewood where it needed to go, and he took a deep breath. He then opened his mouth, baring his fangs. A thin, concentrated jet of fire spurted out from Scales's jaws, bathing the center of the firewood in bright, amber flames. Within seconds, the cooking fire was burning, and Scales began adding the larger pieces of wood to keep it going.

I'd just been about to enter the puzzle ball again, but I was distracted by Scales lighting the fire. "Okay, how the hell are you doing that?" I asked the red-scaled cobra. "I've done it a couple times during a fight, but I haven't been able to do it since. What does fire have to do with moving shit with our minds?"

"Your very quesstion demonsstratess your lack of undersstanding," Scales grunted. "I have told you, we do not manipulate the world…-"

_The Force Aspect deals with the manipulation of the natural energies that in turn manipulate the fabric of reality._

_The Force Aspect, channeled through the class of the Knight, a warrior class, most closely resembles the concept of telekinesis—the movement of matter with one's mind. On a basic level, however, a Knight of Force's Aspect is different from telekinesis._

_A telekinetic could roll a marble across a table._

_A Knight of Force could not roll the marble, however. Instead, he could generate the kinetic energy needed to make the marble move. He could then manipulate that energy to, say, make the marble move faster or more slowly, to make it rise into the air, or punch through a wall._

_In order to achieve mastery of the Force Aspect, short of reaching the God Tiers, the Hero must understand the mechanics of its energies at the most basic, atomic-_

"_Shut up!_" I suddenly heard myself shouting, felt myself banging on my own forehead. I blinked several times, coming back to my senses. Glimmering Scales was looking at me like I had three heads—understandable, considering I'd just freaked the fuck out for no reason from his perspective. I cleared my throat awkwardly, offering a mumbled apology. "Sorry, I just hear this voice in my head, sometimes… And, uh… It gets annoying, and…um… _Fuck it,_" I swore, grabbing the puzzle ball and stalking off to the nearest tree. "I'm gonna just work on this piece of shit until you need me."

* * *

><p>I woke up with a brief yawn, rubbing the bleariness out of my eyes. The first thing I saw was the green ceiling of my room, then the slightly darker green walls, the green desk, the green computer…<p>

I did my usual routine—get up out of bed, stretch, head over to the window to look out over the golden moon of Prospit… Man, waking up to Skaia's warm, soothing light was _so_ much better than waking up to normal sunlight. It's kind of one of those things where you need to feel it to understand what I'm talking about.

That was when I noticed what was off about myself—the top of my golden-yellow pajamas were splattered with brown stains. They seemed to originate near the area of my heart, before they flowed down towards my pajama bottoms, which _also_ had a few stains around the waistband. I scratched my head, looking quizzically at the brown stains. Now, where in the hell had those things come from?

_A cruel, chuckling leer…_

_A grip of steel around my throat…_

_Couldn't breathe…_

_A knife, buried up to the grip in my chest, my Prospit pajamas staining with red…_

_Flying…_

I propped myself up against the windowsill as the memories came flooding back.

"Well, I'm back…" I murmured quietly to myself, sitting down on the end of my bed and resting my head in my hands for a few minutes. Ever since the incident, three days ago, I'd had dark, restless dreams that I could never remember whenever I slept. I wasn't able to wake up on Prospit—I'd feared that it was because my dream self was dead. But, thankfully, this did not seem to be the case.

Now I was kinda pissed.

The Dersites tried to kill me—_both_ of me—and they failed. And I found myself in the mood to make them dearly regret their failure. I decided that it was high time I visited Prospit. But first, there was someone I needed to see…

I went back to my window and jumped out, gliding out into the Prospitian sky. Outer space didn't seem to be quite the same thing here as it was back on Earth. On Earth, if you went out into space without a suit, or a ship, or something, you would suffocate from the lack of oxygen.

Well, no, that's actually wrong—your body's internal gases would expand due to the lack of external atmospheric pressure, and this would likely cause your lungs to rupture. Direct exposure to sunlight without any atmosphere to shield it will give you burns, the nitrogen in your blood will form bubbles and give you the bends, your eyes would boil away as the water in your body vaporized, and your blood pressure would eventually drop until the blood itself begins to boil and your heart finally stops.

_Then,_ you would die.

Here, though, you could just fly through space and breathe to your heart's content. Or, I guess, to your _lungs'_ content. You don't need a spaceship or a space suit, or anything. Of course, there were no stars, or anything, and this _was_ a completely different dimension from the universe that Earth resides in…so who's to say that the void between our planets, between Skaia, Prospit, Derse, and the Veil—who was to say that that was really outer space? I could probably even fly to Derse if I wanted to…though such a trip would take me a very, _very_ long time.

I soared through the skies, catching sight of Cruz's dream tower in the distance. I stared at it for a few seconds, then decided to revise my earlier thought—I had _two_ someones to see before I went to Prospit. I changed direction and veered towards Cruz's dream tower, swerving to avoid a particularly tall golden spire as I went.

As I neared Cruz's tower, I began to hear music faintly playing, growing louder and louder the closer I got. "_…and as the marijuana burns we can take our turn, singin' them dirty rap songs…_" I hummed to the song, recognizing it as one of Afroman's most famous singles, and one of the anthems of the stoner culture. The unmistakable smell of pot also grew stronger with the music.

When I got to the window, I saw Cruz sitting in his beanbag chair, strumming an acoustic guitar to the song, a still-smoking joint hanging lazily out of the corner of his mouth. The sounds Cruz was making were pretty cool, but they didn't quite go with the Afroman song—I decided to keep that to myself, though.

Cruz would probably keep on strumming and smoking until the world ended, so I took the initiative and hopped through his window. As I did so, I made a mental note to myself that I really couldn't keep on using the 'until the world ended' thing, anymore…seeing as the world already _has_ ended…making us a virtually extinct species, save for eight dumb highschoolers with powers they have no idea how to use-

_Nope_. No, no, I'm not thinking about this shit, right now. _No_.

"Hey, Cruz," I greeted my friend as I set foot on his carpet. My dream room and everything in it existed in various shades of green, and I know Tami's existed in various shades of red…everything in Cruz's room, though, was cyan. I wasn't quite sure why our rooms were the colors they were, but there had to be some kind of reason.

Cruz's eyes flew open, and his face was parted by his trademark toothy grin. "Heeeey, bro, _como esta tu sue__ñ__o?_" he spoke to me in Spanglish, which I was able to somewhat understand thanks to three years of Spanish class from eighth grade into my sophomore year of high school. "Shit, _que tienes_ on your shirt, man?" he asked me, gesturing at the brown stains on my Prospit pajamas.

"Oh nothing," I bumped Cruz's extended fist, leaning against one of his bedposts. "Just dried blood from an assassination attempt."

"Oh, shit, I heard about that!" Cruz's expression suddenly morphed into one of concern. He must have been pretty stoned to forget about that…but hey, it's Cruz we're talking about. Are we really all that surprised? "Are you okay, man?"

I resisted the urge to point out how I probably wouldn't be standing here talking to him if I _wasn't_ okay. Cruz is one of the only people who I actually feel kind of bad when I'm sarcastic with them. He's always just so happy and oblivious, most of my remarks usually go right over his head, and then I feel like an asshole.

"Yeah, Cruz, I'm fine," I replied with a nod. "Just wanted to drop by and say hi. I mean, unless… I'm flying over to Prospit, today; you wanna come with?"

"Uh…" Cruz fidgeted, trying and utterly failing to hide the discomfort he was clearly feeling. "I'd love to, bro, it's just…ehm… I can't exactly _fly_ yet…"

"What?" my forehead was creased by a deep frown. "Uh…dude, you're aware that you're dreaming, right now? Flying's never been a problem before."

"No, I'm not."

"Not what?"

"_Dreaming,_" Cruz clarified. "I'm not dreaming right now, bro. I'm wide awake."

"But…"

Cruz fixed me with one of the most serious looks I've ever seen him give me. "This is the new me, dude. The real me is dead."


	16. III Chapter 16: Questions

Chapter Sixteen: Questions

"You _DIED?_" I nearly screamed.

Okay, maybe I _actually_ screamed… But cut me a break, okay? Just this once? You'd probably scream, too.

"Turns out, you're not the only one the assassins came after," Cruz went on to explain, taking a small hit off his joint. He offered it to me, but I didn't take it—I was still pretty confused. "I made a batch of pot brownies and had them with the imps that were chilling at my place. I was just minding my own business, blasting some tunes, and then this Dersite guy busts down my door and throws a knife at me…got me right through the throat. Hurt like a motherfucker. Next thing I know, I wake up here. Been here ever since…"

"So…you _died,_" I repeated myself, a bit less shouty this time.

"No, I just used up a life," Cruz answered. When all he got in reply from me was a blank stare, he was quick to clarify. "God damn it, I keep forgetting-"

"Yes, I know, you keep forgetting how my sprite is a fucking psychopath," I grumbled. This wasn't the first time I'd heard this spiel.

"Well, actually, from what Cass has been telling me, your sprite is actually a pretty cool dude."

"Cool dude?" I didn't even go through the trouble of arching an eyebrow—_both_ of them shot up my forehead. "_Cool dude?_ Do I need to remind you how he completely melted the fuck down and tried to skewer me? And wait, what the hell is Cass doing with my sprite?"

"Well, the poor guy's been through a lot, apparently," Cruz shrugged in reply. "Cass says he won't talk about it, but your sprite is dealing with some really fucked up mental shit. But yeah, you should probably talk to Cass sometime in the near future…from what she's been saying about your sprite, you might have yourself some competition."

"Competition? With Cass?" I tried to hide my disbelief, but I don't know how well I was able to. "He's a goddamn _sprite_. He's an emotional wreck of an undead dream self. He has wings. Everything below his neck is covered in feathers. His hands look like fucking eagle talons. He probably doesn't even have a dick, anymore! He's not exactly romance material."

"Hey, man, all I know is what I've heard from the others," Cruz held up his hands in mock surrender. "You and Anna have both been off the grid ever since we got here, barely contacting the others. Cass hasn't heard a peep from you in ages; she keeps asking me how you are."

"She's never online when I am!" I protested. "It's not like I've been deliberately ignoring her, you know; you have no idea what kind of shit I've been going through with my fucking consorts. And now she's hanging out with the winged feathery psycho…"

"Yeah, your sprite went nuts and freaked out on you," Cruz rolled his eyes as he spoke. "But that was, like, forever ago, bro! A lot's happened since then, while you've been incognito."

"We're done talking about this," I interrupted, putting an abrupt end to that topic of conversation. We'd gotten off on a pretty big tangent, anyway, and I wanted to get back to what I'd originally been asking Cruz. I also didn't really want to keep on discussing the matter of possible shit between Cass and my Sprite—that shit would never work, but it would drive _me_ crazy if I kept thinking about it. "What did you mean, you used up a life?"

"Oh, right…_man_ we got offtopic, there," Cruz chuckled. "Okay, uh… How can I explain this? When your waking self kicks the bucket, your dream self slowly starts to suffer from the same wounds that killed your main self. But if another Hero kisses your corpse, your consciousness will be permanently transferred to your dream self, and your healed dream self becomes your new, permanent body. It revives you."

I blinked once. "Okay, how high are you? Really?"

Cruz gave another shrug. "Hey, bro, believe me or don't believe me. Or rather, believe Gwen or don't believe Gwen, since she's the one who told me about this shit. I think it sounds pretty whacked out, too, but that's just the way it is. No real sense in questioning it, you know? Not when you know it works."

"Okay… Okay, so some Dersite asshat nails you in the throat with a knife…you die… Okay, so who went all necro on your corpse?"

"Necro? Dude, you only have to _kiss_ the dead person, not fuck them…" Cruz's expression gradually morphed into a very thoughtful one, even as he was speaking. When he turned his attention back to me, he gave yet another shrug and said, "You know what? That's a really good question. I dunno who went to first base with dead waking self me. Only way for someone to reach my body is to go through the seven gates…and I know for a fact that no one's been planet-hopping, lately… _Hm,_ now I'm really curious!"

"So, I guess… I mean, if you've become your dream self, now, that means your dream self can't do any of those crazy 'dreamy' things, anymore?" I asked. "Like flying?"

"Well, I'm the Sage of Space, bro," Cruz chuckled. "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find another way to fly when I get better at using my Aspect. But until then, I'm pretty much grounded."

"Okay, then… You're sure you're alright?"

"Never been better, bro!"

"I'm gonna disagree with you on that last one, but you do seem to be okay… I think I'll take that hit, now…" I reached for Cruz's joint, holding it to my mouth and taking a deep hit, exhaling it towards the ceiling. When he offered it to me a second time, I declined, though. "No, man, I don't want to get too high before I see the Queen," I explained to my friend. "That would probably be awkward."

"Valid, bro," Cruz nodded in agreement. He then extended a hand, and we fell into a hybrid handshake/hug. "Well, good luck to you on your adventures, man. Tell the Queen I said 'sup."

"Yeah, will do," I stepped back towards the window, sitting back on the windowsill. "I'll be back sometime soon, and we can talk if you need to… I've seen some pretty fucked up shit, too. Trust me, I can relate."

"Aight, dude, you better head on out. Peace and laurels!"

And with that, I let myself fall backwards out of Cruz's window almost like a scuba diver falling off the side of a boat, plummeting headfirst down towards the streets for a few seconds before righting myself and soaring back up into the skies. I flew across countless golden rooftops, around towers, spires, and steeples, across wide-open squares and boulevards, leaving Cruz's dream tower behind me.

Eventually, a new dream tower appeared in the distance, and that's what I aimed myself towards. I knew its occupant would be awake here—her sleep patterns were not difficult to predict. Funnily enough, I heard the sound of music growing louder as I approached _this_ tower, as well…she must be playing her ukulele, again. And while Cruz was pretty good with his guitar, Tami was considerably better, and she could play many other instruments besides guitars and their smaller cousins.

In an earlier conversation with Dream Cruz, during one of our escapades on the golden moon, he'd suggested that our titles and corresponding powers were meant to challenge us…but in Tami's case, her powers seemed tailor-made for her. I mean, I don't really know the full extent of what it meant to be a Muse of Life…but come on, just the fact that her class is 'Muse'…it just fits so well. How is that a challenge? Okay, I'm done now.

Just as I'd thought, Tami was resting back on her bed, playing some kind of Russian-sounding music on her ukulele. I don't know if it was an actual song, but it definitely sounded like it was…and if it wasn't, then it should have been. Have I mentioned that Tami is really good with instruments?

"Can you do the Tetris theme, too?" I asked as I lighted atop one of her windowsills, peering into the red dream room. Without even reacting to my arrival, Tami seamlessly segued into the familiar melody of Tetris. "Wow, I didn't think you'd actually do it," I remarked, actually much more impressed than I was letting on.

Tami gave a small shrug. "It's an easy thing to play."

"So if I then told you to play Free Bird-"

"Don't push your luck," she scowled at me, gradually changing out of the Tetris theme and returning to whatever tune she'd been playing before. She strummed along for a few seconds, but then she lowered her instrument and muttered something under her breath. "Well, you've just ruined my rhythm, so now this is the part where you tell me what you wanted."

"I just wanted to say thanks," I answered, unfazed by my friend's grouchiness. To be honest, I think I'd feel more concerned for my own personal safety if Tami started talking _nice_ to me. Usually when she smiled or complimented someone, it was the precursor to a hellstorm of _Fuck You_ directed at whoever was unfortunate enough to incur her wrath. But these episodes were few and far between, and I was one of the only people who could get away with pushing her buttons. Theo could, too, though Theo rarely exploited this advantage, due to a chronic case of being a nicer person than me.

"Thanks?" Tami arched an eyebrow, lazily strumming her ukulele again. The resulting sound was a harsh, dissonant chord that didn't quite seem to make the journey down my ear canal without getting snagged on a few corners.

"Yeah," I nodded. "You know…for the whole 'Lifey' thing you did for me."

"Oh, that," Tami wrinkled her nose, making her nose stud glint as it passed through the light shining through another window. "You got blood all over my carpet."

"Yeah, uh…sorry, I think? I would've stopped by to thank you sooner, but I haven't been able to wake up here ever since the…you know."

"Understandable," Tami nodded slowly. "I fixed you up as best as I could, but healing really isn't my specialty. Your dream body still needed time to recover from the stab wound, and my room needed time to recover from the _blood all over my carpet_. Luckily, these rooms seem to clean themselves every time we go to sleep, but the fucking smell didn't go away until just last night. I guess the same can't be said for your pajamas," she gestured at the dried bloodstains that marred my Prospit shirt.

"Hey, these don't smell like anything! I can't feel the stains, and they have no smell anymore, but the color left by the blood just won't wash out," I could only shrug. "We don't have changes of clothes here. What do you want me to do, fly around shirtless the whole time?"

"Unless your name is Gino Caiazzo, the shirt stays on."

"…so, I was gonna head down to Prospit and see the Queen after this," I decided to change the subject, as I usually did when conversations started involving Gino. "I just stopped by to ruin your rhythm and say thanks, but you're welcome to join me if you want."

"Sure."

I blinked once, already about to say _goodbye_ and fly back out into the sky. I hadn't expected this answer. "Sure? You…actually want to come out and _do_ something?"

"Yes. I can be social when I choose to be. I'm assuming Cruz isn't joining us?" she asked. "I mean, if he's his dream self, now, he probably can't fly anymore, right?"

"Did everyone know about this but me?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Tami stood up and attached a shoulder strap to her ukulele, slinging it across her back. "Should I even bother to ask if Anna is with you?" A single glare from me was all the answer Tami needed. She gave a single nod. "Still butthurt after last year, I see. You ever going to move on?"

"I _have_ moved on."

"_Liar, liar, pants on fire._"

"A year ago, I would have happily shoved her face into a hot stovetop," I shrugged, backing out through the window and floating just outside. "Now I just don't talk to her. I'd call that an improvement, wouldn't you?"

"I'd call it the curious case of the boy who thought he was the only one to have a crazy ex-girlfriend and a douchebag friend," Tami retorted as she followed me outside. "Turns out, though…he _wasn't_. It's actually a pretty common occurrence."

"Yeah, hardy-fucking-har—why am I bringing you with me, again?"

"Hey, if you didn't want me along, you wouldn't have invited me in the first place."

"Wouldn't have invited you, yeah…so can I _un_-invite you?"

"Nope."

"Well okay, then. Looks like I'm in this shit for the long haul."

Thankfully, it turned out that I _wasn't_ in that shit for the long haul. I think this was Tami's first real adventure on Prospit that took her more than a stone's throw away from her dream room. By the time we reached the base of the colossal golden chain that linked the golden moon to Prospit, she'd fallen completely silent. It was almost comical for me, seeing that look of wide-eyed wonder on Tami's face.

Flying, it seemed, could be an utterly magical experience even for the most acidic of sarcastic people.

"Pretty cool, huh?" I said to her. She didn't even answer me—she was too busy watching the streets and spires zoom past below.

Eventually, we reached the giant golden chain that linked Prospit and its moon, and we started shooting upwards, following the chain away from the comfort of the golden moon and into the emptiness of the void between planets. It was a peculiar feeling, really…we were in the medium's equivalent of outer space, but it was almost…dark and bright at the same time. Dark because it was space—there weren't even any stars here, for crying out loud—and bright because we were still extremely close to Skaia. We were flying _toward_ Skaia, in fact; at the moment, Prospit rested between Skaia and the golden moon.

I'm not quite sure how long it took for us to travel the distance between Prospit and its moon. When I'm my dream self, I always have a lot of difficulty keeping track of time. If I had to guess, though, I'd say we were cruising through space there for…an hour? Maybe two? I think we could have gone a lot faster, but that would have tired us out. We weren't in any rush.

I mean, maybe I _should_ have been in a rush, because I had no idea when my waking self was going to wake back up, and I might end up back in my dream room before I even made it to the White Queen. But again, I'm my dream self right now. Problems like that don't occur to me when I'm my dream self.

We arrived on Prospit right at the place where the other end of the golden chain was anchored. We did not land there, however—it was still a fair distance from the chain to the throne room, so we kept right on flying. The streets below were abuzz with snow-skinned Prospitians, thousands of little white figures pointing and whispering. As we made our way towards the regions on the far side of Prospit, Tami finally broke her silence.

"This is like something straight out of Peter Pan…" she murmured, almost too quietly for me to hear. "I've always wanted to fly…"

As we continued on our way to the throne room, we ended up stopping to check out some of those massive golden towers that existed exclusively on Prospit and not its moon. There were eight of these towers total, set apart in two groups of four. The throne room was right in front of one of these tower-foursomes, but this was the _other_ group of four. I'd lost count of the number of times I'd tried to get a good look at them from my dream room—all I could really see from the golden moon was a bright, white light on top of a spire of golden-yellow.

Up close, the towers looked more or less exactly the same as they'd looked from a distance, save one small thing…

"Hey, check this," I motioned for Tami to come over. I was examining the sizeable glowing orb at the top of one of the towers. Even though it was difficult to see through all the white light emanating from the orb, I could see a distinct symbol engraved into the sphere's surface. It was a simple symbol…a circle with a dot in the middle, and a curved line spiraling inward from the outer circle into the central dot.

"What is it?" Tami squinted as she peered into the light. I pointed out the symbol that I saw, but she just glanced back at me and raised an eyebrow. "…and?" she asked, obviously thinking there was more to my observation than what I let on.

"Just thought it was interesting, is all…" I shrugged. "I mean, I see these towers every night when I dream, but I never know what they are or why they're here, and just seeing them up close… And then-"

"They're prototyping towers, where the data of any and all pre-entry kernelsprite prototyping is received by both Prospit and Derse," Tami interrupted me. When I gave her a look, she just shrugged. "If you had finished that thought, I would've said something probably relating to how surprised I was that you didn't know what a prototyping tower was, and then _you_ would've said something about having a small dick, or a sprite that went bonkers, or something along those lines. Figured I'd just cut out the middlemen and interrupt you with the actual answer."

"Okay, Miss Emo-Mozart-Who-Knows-Everything, what's the symbol mean, then? Huh?"

"It's the symbol of the Death Aspect," the corner of Tami's mouth tugged up slightly into a smug grin. "This is Cass's tower. And this tower…" we floated over to one of the adjacent structures, "…is Gino's. See the Mind Aspect symbol? And over here, that's the symbol for the Breath Aspect…and finally, the Light Aspect. These towers represent the Derse dreamers… Makes sense, I guess, for the White Queen to live under our towers instead of these ones. _Whew,_ how does it feel getting bitch-slapped with all that pointless knowledge you thought I couldn't bitch-slap you with?"

I just stared at Tami, and all I could really think of to say—and in my defense, this is _dream_ me we're talking about—all I ended up saying was, "…I don't have a small dick…"

"_You're welcome_."

I'll admit, that one caught me off guard. I was expecting some kind of verbal coup de grâce, not…_you're welcome_. "What did I just not thank you for?"

"The comeback I had for '_I don't have a small dick_'," her ghost of a grin grew slightly wider. "I decided not to say it. It probably would have crossed the line, even for me. _You're welcome_."

"Let's just go…" I took back off into the sky, heading in the direction of the other four prototyping towers, the very tips of which we could see in the far distance. I think I could just chalk this whole thing up to one of those many times when I push Tami's buttons, only to have it blow up in my face. And yet… And yet, I always kept coming back to push more buttons. Maybe I've just got a little masochist inside me, who knows?

"So what was the whole deal with your sprite?" Tami ended up asking me a few minutes later, breaking the silence once again. "I kind of zoned out every time Cruz tried explaining it to me, and you know how he gets when he's stoned."

"What's it matter to you?"

Tami gave another shrug. "It doesn't really, I'm just confused. I don't listen to gossip, most of the time, and the others have been saying weird things about it."

"Okay, uh…" I took a deep breath.

You remember that time when I was chatting with a friend, heard that noise, turned around, and found the dead body of my dream self lying on the floor with his throat slit open? With _my_ throat slit open, rather, seeing as I am my dream self at the moment… Well, I remember that time, too, and I _really_ don't like talking about it.

Even so, I knew that despite what Tami said, she really _was_ interested in the situation with my sprite, and giving her a few juicy little details would most likely get her off my back. "…so I was gonna just go ahead and drag the body downstairs and outside, and…I dunno…bury it, I guess… I just wanted it out of the house. Then a goddamn imp attacks me as I'm going down the stairs, and the body of dead Dream Me falls into my eaglesprite and becomes… _Me_-sprite, basically."

"Well, your dream self obviously isn't dead," Tami pointed out. "Did you ever find out if that dead dream self was a future version of you, or just from a doomed timeline?"

"No idea."

"That's really interesting… I mean, just that there's like a sprite _you_ floating around, somewhere."

"Well, a sprite version of me mixed with an eagle, yes," I muttered. "So there's this big flash of light, and my sprite takes one look at himself and completely freaks the fuck out…" I absentmindedly touched a finger to the thin, somewhat reddish line on my face, just below my left eye. "He attacked me, gave me this scar to remember him by, and left. He eventually comes back later and helps me get to my first gate, but then he just up and leaves again, and I get to go through this whole thing without a guide. There. Satisfied?"

"Well you know why he was probably all messed up when he woke up?" Tami asked me. When I didn't answer, she went on. "Okay, let me put it to you this way. You fall asleep, you wake up on Prospit. But if your dream self dies, you _don't_ wake up on Prospit. You wake up reliving your past memories in a dream bubble."

This time it was _me_ whose interest was piqued. "Dream bubbles?" I echoed.

"Yeah, they're these things that Gino and Cass managed to get the outer gods to create for us," Tami did her best to explain. "Gwen told me about them. They exist in the Furthest Ring—the consciousness of your dream self will relocate to a dream bubble after the death of its body, and that is where you will go when you dream. And if _both_ you and your dream self end up kicking off, then apparently you'll be stuck out there permanently, drifting around the Furthest Ring, subject to the whims of these outer gods… And it'll take a while before you even realize you're dreaming. Or dead."

"So…okay, then, so how do you know I'm not in a dream bubble right now?" I asked my friend next. "Maybe this conversation we're having right now is just one of _my_ memories! Are you-"

"Can it, Shyamalan, you're not dead," Tami grunted. "Your dream self—or at least the version of your dream self that became your sprite—was probably in one of those dream bubbles before you yanked him out. And time, as you know, has no meaning in the Furthest Ring; from your sprite's perspective, he's probably been dead for a long while. And the sudden snap back to the living world…it's probably how newborns feel when they're first pulled out into the light. Blinded, deafened, assaulted on all sides by their own senses…"

"I mean, yeah, I guess that makes sense," I couldn't help but frown as we continued flying towards the Prospitian Palace. "Still, though… From the shit my sprite was saying, getting blasted by his own senses didn't seem to be the issue. He just kept shouting at me, going on about his memories, and something that Cass did to him, and some other crazy shit. Yeah, that's it…that's what was weird—he didn't really seem dazed or confused, or anything like that; he was just…_angry_. Angrier than I think I've ever been my entire life. Angry, and in denial, as if he couldn't accept the fact that he had become a sprite."

"I guess each person reacts differently," Tami shrugged. "We can't exactly look this shit up on Wikipedia, you know—I'm sure your sprite was just unused to being alive. Dream bubbles are most likely comfortable places to exist in, and any kind of transition back to the physical plane from the afterlife is bound to be uncomfortable—_SHIT!_"

Tami swerved suddenly to avoid flying face-first into a giant, golden clock tower. By now, the other four prototyping towers were very close by, so Tami and I ended up sinking down to what appeared to be Prospit's Grand Boulevard, which ran up to the very gates of the Prospitian palace. Members of the Prospitian Royal Guard stood atop the battlements surrounding the palace, as stoic and still as the white and gold banners that hung from the walls.

There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of Prospitians gathering on this street. Word seemed to travel fast—one carapacian sees a visiting Hero, tells his or her friends, and suddenly the entire population of Prospit is aware of our presence within minutes. At least, that was how it seemed.

"So this is where the White Queen lives, then?" Tami nodded to the citadel up ahead, ignoring all of the nearest Prospitians' attempts to touch her, forging straight ahead through the crowd, which opened up before her.

"Certainly looks that way," I remarked, making my own way through the crowd of Prospitians.

We made our way up to the gates of the palace, but they remained shut. A guard called down from the ramparts. "_Halt!_ State your business!"

"Seriously?" Tami and I ended up saying at the exact same time. Sparing a brief moment to glance at each other and have a quick laugh, the two of us simply rose up off the ground, floated up into the sky, and soared over the gates, coming back down to a rest on the grounds within the palace while the royal guards manning the walls watched us with their wide, midnight-black eyes.

We walked down a path lined by golden trees, up to the entrance doors of the actual palace, which was guarded by four tall, hulking members of the royal guard. As one, they barred our way with their spears. One of them started to speak, but Tami brushed right past the guy even before he had a chance to talk.

"Muse of Life, here, coming through," Tami said, brushing right past the burly door guards and straight to the doors, pushing them open with a single shove. I'm certain the guards recognized us as Heroes, which is why none of them bothered to pursue Tami as she strode past them into the main hall.

I made my way after her, mumbling something along the lines of, "_What she said,_" to the guards as I followed Tami inside. The doors boomed shut behind us.

We found ourselves in a long, golden—I know, something gold on Prospit, big surprise—hall with mane smaller corridors that branched out into other parts of the palace. There was a white carpet on the floor that ran from the entrance to the giant doors at the other end of the hall, which were open. The whole place was lit by a combination of Skaian light, either shining in through windows or reflected inside through the use of positioned mirrors, and common torches. I also passed a few lanterns that were lit by what looked like some kind of luminous grist.

Prospitians crossed this main hall as they moved through the smaller corridors, going about their various duties. Many of them stopped to look at us before hurrying off on their way, whispering fervently to their fellows.

Together, Tami and I walked down the white carpet to the open room at the other end of the hall, and we weren't too surprised to find ourselves in the Prospitian throne room. There was a single step not too far up from the door, which was the level most of the throne room existed on. The two thrones themselves rested on an elevated tier at the back of the room, on a red velvet carpet. They were large, uncomfortable-looking stone chairs with a gray/light gray chessboard pattern covering their surface area.

The throne on the left was empty, and I suspected that it was there more for symbolic reasons than practical ones; the White King apparently spends all his time on the Battlefield fighting the Dersites, leading the Prospitian armies, and doing other Kingly shit. The throne on the right, however, was _not_ empty.

"Welcome to the Golden Keep, my Heroes," the White Queen spoke to us, her mouth curving into a small, composed smile. "Your presence in my home honors me."

"Uh… _Your Highness,_" I found my words and was able to manage an awkward, stiff bow. Tami nodded her head slightly, but that was it. "I'm here to, uh… I mean, the reason I came is to… I needed to talk about-"

"I know why you are here, my Knight," the White Queen turned her dark gaze over to. I've mentioned this before, but I've always liked how even though the Queen can be difficult to directly look at, her eyes were not. Her gaze was the only thing you could look at for a while without having your eyes ache. "I visited you on the Moon when the White Guardian informed me of your brush with the Dersite agents. Alas, you had fallen into a deep sleep and would not wake. What I do not know, however, is why you have come, Muse. What is it that you seek?"

"Me?" Tami actually looked around the empty throne room before pointing back to herself. "Oh, I'm not really here for anything. Just along for the ride. No special purpose here."

The White Queen seemed to dissect Tami with her dark gaze until my friend started fidgeting slightly, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Your words give away deeper meaning than you intend, child," the White Queen observed. "Yours is a quest of utmost importance, but you do not believe it to be so. You believe your contribution to the ultimate reward is a negligible one. Come closer, my Muse, and hear my words."

I tried to take interest in studying the ceiling, and later my red dream shoes, while Tami stepped up to the Queen's throne and proceeded to have a short, hushed conversation with the monarch. I tried to listen to what they were talking about for a few seconds before giving up and returning my attention to my shoes. When Tami stepped back next to me, I could tell that there was something there that wasn't there before, some kind of doubt in her eyes.

Before I had the chance to think on this, the White Queen addressed me. "As for you, my Knight, I fear the most I can offer you is a humble apology… I did not believe my Dersite counterpart would be capable of attacking our Heroes in their own towers."

"Yeah, what's the deal with that?" I asked the White Queen accusingly. "I thought there were supposed to be, like, these rules in place. Rules that keep the Dersites from…you know…doing shit like assassinating the Heroes' dream selves? Pardon my French, but what the hell happened there?"

"I told you once that this is a flawed incipisphere," the White Queen reminded me. "Not necessarily an infertile one, but a flawed one nonetheless. There are some things that should not be, that _are_. And there are some things that should be, that are _not_. The Black Queen of Derse's instinct to break the rules and order your death, for instance, is but one small example of the many things that are flawed with this session."

"But _why_ is this session flawed?" I pressed on. "What did we do wrong?"

"There is no right or wrong in paradox space—everything simply…_is_," the Queen explained. "If blame were to be leveled at anyone, it should be leveled at the one responsible for the destruction of countless universes, like yours. He is a demon, said to be indestructible. But you will not fight this demon, for that is the purpose of another group. You and your friends have another purpose, which your Hero of Light is already well on her way to figuring out."

"And you can't just tell me what it is because…?"

The White Queen's smile widened by a fraction, and I'm pretty sure she would have raised an eyebrow if she…you know…had eyebrows. "The ultimate reward of this session is an end that you and your friends must achieve, and you must do it on your own. On a more practical note, however, I am not supposed to give you any details of your futures—doing so would only result in you making different choices and decisions than you would have had I remained silent, which in turn could potentially lead to a doomed timeline. And I assure you, you do not want to exist in a doomed timeline."

"Okay, okay, well maybe this is one detail that you _can_ give me," I held up a hand, deciding that now was a good time to bring the conversation round to what I originally wanted to know. "When that Dersite guy tried to kill me, he had a ring. And it wasn't like yours—hey, where _is_ your ring, speaking of which?"

The Queen pulled the small necklace chain around her neck, pulling it from the top of her clothing to reveal a small golden ring, adorned with eight glowing white orbs. "I only wear it during times of need. It causes less problems when I meet with my subjects in my most basic form."

I wasn't quite sure what she meant by that, but ultimately it didn't really matter. I went on. "…yeah, like I was saying, the ring this Dersite had wasn't like yours; no glowy orbs, or anything; just a plain ring. And it was black, too; the ring was black. This guy was able to shrug off any kind of attack that I dealt him using my Aspect…and then _he_ started to use my Aspect. A normal Dersite dude using my own goddamn Aspect against me. I mean, I thought _I_ was the only one who could use it, apart from my consorts."

"The Hegemonic Brute was in possession of a dark ring," the White Queen explained. "They are yet another example of the flaws this incipisphere bears. They were created from a very special substance, unique only to this particular incipisphere."

After the White Queen finished speaking, and it became clear that she wasn't going to add anything to that, I held up a hand and made a 'get on with it' gesture. "…and? Anything else you wanted to say, there? Like what the substance is or how it ended up here? Or why those rings fucked with my Aspect, pardon my French again? Anything along those lines?"

The Queen smiled sadly, shaking her head once. "Forgive me, my Knight, but that is knowledge the Heroes must discover for themselves, for reasons I have already given you. The best comprehension comes with self-discovery."

I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself not to explode. For someone who was supposed to be on our side, the White Queen sure knew how to be unhelpful. Despite my best efforts, though, I could feel color rushing into my face, which always happened whenever I was annoyed, frustrated, or angry. I took another deep breath, thanked the Queen for her time, turned around and stalked back towards the entrance.

As I went, the White Queen held up a hand, gesturing for me to linger a moment. "My Knight, I apologize if I seem to be deliberately unhelpful. I would like nothing better than to assist you on your quest as much as I could, but that is simply not an option. However, if you insist on unraveling these mysteries, I would recommend you speak with the Witch of Light."

"Yeah, I'll do that…" I muttered, pushing my way through the doors and out into the hallway. I then turned over my shoulder, and parted with, "Oh, and the Sage of Space says _'sup,_ by the way."

Tami offered the Queen a quick nod before hurrying off after me. "Geez, Mister Anger-Management, wait up!" she called over to me. She finally caught up with me at the gates of the Golden Keep. "_Man,_ you need to chill out."

"Oh, fuck off," I snapped, jumping into the air and flying over the gates. "All I wanted were a few straight answers, okay, was that _really_ too much to ask for?"

"You heard the Queen," Tami soared up into the sky right next to me, following me up, up to the tops of the four prototyping towers that rested behind and over the Golden Keep. "She wasn't supposed to tell you—it could've caused a doomed timeline."

I lighted atop the glowing orb that capped my tower. Engraved into the surface of the orb was that familiar crashing wave symbol, formed from three curving arcs, almost like a warped rainbow. That was the symbol of the Force Aspect. _My_ symbol. This tower, along with its counterpart on Derse, held the data of the Roman eagle that ended up getting prototyped with my kernelsprite.

"I know, Tam, I know…" I sat down on top of my tower, resting my elbows on my knees and massaging one of my temples. "I just need to vent for a sec… I mean, I'm just fucking sick and tired of reacting. That's all we've been able to do lately—react, react, react! Reacting to this game, reacting to my consorts—now the Dersites are trying to assassinate us, and _what_ can we do about it? Jack shit, that's what! Kinda makes me wish I was a Derse dreamer, you know? If this shit went down on Derse, I'd be shoving my Bowie down the Black Queen's throat before she could even say _'Blah Blah Imma Huge Bitch'_."

"Trust me, you wouldn't want to be stuck on Derse, right now," Tami quietly said to me when I finally calmed down. "Things are getting really hairy out there."

"I assume the Derse dreamers are getting assassinated, too?"

"No," Tami shook her head. "No, Cass told me the Dersites already tried that. Now they're probably going to launch an all-out assault."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note<strong>_

_Hello, readers! In light of recent Homestuck updates, I felt the need to give a little clarification concerning this story. Mostly this is due to the unveiling of the 'master classes'; the Muse, and its unconfirmed active counterpart. Now, I already introduced one of my characters as a Muse a long time ago, well before the update revealing the existence of the canon Muse class, and I do not know how much of a problem this will cause with canon - I already had a clear idea of what a Muse was able to to, and this idea may be different than whatever Hussie has in mind. So really, the point of all this is to reiterate that I had the plot and elements of this story planned out long ago, and I am not trying to shit all over canon. This is just a rare case in which I accidentally used a canon element that _hadn't been revealed yet._ Maybe I'll be able to rework my idea of a Muse to fit the canon one, but we'll just have to wait and see._

_Well, that's it for now. Enjoy!_

_-TheAmateur_


	17. III Chapter 17: Into The West

Chapter Seventeen: Into The West

My neck muscles bulged as I went head to head with Glimmering Scales, matching the young red-scaled cobra's Vis as he attempted to shove me backwards.

This was another of our regular exercises—it's actually what we started out every day with. Glimmering Scales would take a stick and draw a good-sized circle in the dirt. We would then stand inside the circle, facing each other, and we would spar. This was unarmed combat, but not hand-to-hand combat—we fought using only our Vis, our telekinesis.

There were two catches for me. The first catch was the fact that I had to have my hands tied behind my back, after several incidents where I ended up punching Scales in the face. I've lived my entire life fighting my Sis with my hands, okay? Sue me… And the second catch was the absence of an actual start time. We would face each other, but there was no countdown from three, no buzzer or whistle. The exercise always started without any kind of warning.

So to succeed at mind-wrestling—that's what I called it because the consorts had no actual name for it—one would have to hone their reflexes and instincts to the point where they could anticipate their opponents' attacks. I was utterly hopeless in that regard, but I'd been doing some private practicing of my own to develop a little technique that would help me sense where Scales was going to attack, and today I was going to test it out. What I would do was…erm…

Okay, you know what? Fuck it. I'm not going to go into a lengthy explanation about how I planned on fighting Scales today. I'm just gonna go ahead and let my Vis do the talking.

We'd faced off for about a minute, just like normal, before I opened with a quick, sharp jab aimed towards the back of Scales's head. Yeah, that was another part of mind-wrestling that was hard to comprehend—your opponent could strike you from behind, above, or below even when he was still in front of you. There's no part of your body that is safe. It's _mind_-wrestling, after all.

Scales lunged forward, ducking his head down and avoiding my blow. As he thrust his head forward, I knew he wouldn't waste the opportunity to send a sharp push along with it, so I sidestepped his blow. However, I wasn't expecting the lightning-fast secondary strike that caught me behind the knees. I went down with a painful thud, but quickly rolled back up onto my feet.

Knocking an opponent down did not win the match—to win the match, you had to push your opponent outside the boundary of the circle. So even though I went down like the Berlin Wall, I was still in the fight. When I got back to my feet, Scales and I found ourselves facing each other down once more, each of us daring the other to make a move.

Time for my little idea.

After I stood back up, I quietly took a deep breath and formed a shell of air around my body. All I was really doing was making some of the air around my body hold in place, forming a shell of sorts around me. It was too thin to be seen by the naked eye or sensed by another's Vis, nor would it stand up to any form of attack. In fact, even a feather floating by on the breeze would be enough to break through the second skin of air that I'd drawn about myself. But that was exactly the point—whenever Scales would try and hit me, his attack would first have to travel through that shell of air, and I would know where Scales was going to hit me based on where I'd felt the rupture in the air shell.

I'm just trying to explain this in the simplest terms possible. The truth is that this is something I've been practicing at for days on end, now, and it's taken me an almost mind-numbing number of times to be able to hold the air shell together while still being able to focus on fighting off an opponent. It's fucking _difficult,_ in case you were wondering. And even if you weren't, now you know.

Scales made the first move, this time. I felt it coming, felt the energy generated by his Vis disrupting my air shell, felt the ever so faint puff of air on the small of my back. I twisted out of the way; but even as I dodged, I held my hands out to the side and pulled them in the same direction that Scales's attack was heading in. This generated my own force behind Scales's, strengthening the original strike and sending it roaring into Scales's midsection.

The red-scaled consort went flying, landing with a noise that sounded like a cross between a hiss and an _'oof!'_. He'd been blown clear out of the circle, nearly slamming into a nearby tree. He shook his head once and slithered back to his…_uh_…whatever you call the bottom of a snake's body. Fuck it, you know what I mean—he _stood back up_.

Scales's pupils had narrowed to slits. "How did you do that?" he asked me, almost accusingly. I knew that without using my little trick, I didn't stand much of a chance against Scales…and Scales knew that, too. "How did you know where I wass going to sstrike? You have never been able to anticipate like that, before."

I debated on whether or not I should tell Scales about my air shell, but ultimately I decided to spill the beans. I explained how I'd come up with my idea to use the 'air shell' to detect incoming attacks, and how I'd used that technique to fuck him up this last round.

"An interessting tactic," Glimmering Scales conceded. "However, if you intend to continue using it, you will have to make ssome changess. Your 'shell' will not hold in the wind, for example, unless you sstrengthen it. And sstrengthening it would defeat the purposse."

"That's why I make it more into a lattice when it's windy," I explained. When I saw that Scales plainly had no clue what a lattice was, I did my best to clarify. "Uh… It's basically similar to a cage, only with lots of small holes instead of spaces between bars. I guess it's almost like a very fine net. This keeps the structure of the shell intact, while allowing wind to pass through without blowing the shell away."

Glimmering Scales blinked. "And how are you able to change the sstructure of your shell?"

"Well… I can always feel all parts of the shell; that's how I know where you're trying to hit me," I reasoned. "All it really takes to change the shape is a little visualization. Imagining small holes in the shell and guiding the wind through. The Vis does the rest. Same thing for changing the shape."

Scales didn't even bother trying for another round of mind-wrestling; instead, he slithered over to our camp and retrieved my puzzle sphere, tossing it over to me. I tried to catch it one-handed and botched it, but I managed to snag it out of the air as it bounced down towards the ground. "Ssolve your puzzle," Scales commanded. "Ssolve it now."

"What, you mean-"

"Less talking, more ssolving."

"_Fine…_" I pulled out my length of string and took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I made the front end of the string levitate, guiding it gently into the entrance hole of the puzzle ball. I'd done this so many times that I didn't need to actually see what I was doing, anymore. And once the string was inside the puzzle ball, having my eyes open was pretty pointless, anyway.

Just like every other time I've done this, I felt my Vis guide the string through the first short length of tunnel to the first junction, where the maze within the wooden sphere started proper. And, _just like every other goddamn time I've done this,_ after navigating my way through the first few junctions, I ended up becoming hopelessly lost. I would try and backtrack, only to end up in a completely new junction, and the string gradually grew harder and harder to pull along behind my guiding Vis.

Finally, I had to give up, before the puzzle ball devoured the entire length of string. I opened my eyes and released my hold on the string, grabbing its back end and drawing it gently out of the wooden sphere. I'm not going to bother telling you all the myriad curses and plagues I was calling down on that fucking puzzle ball in my mind—I think you already get the idea.

Glimmering Scales watched me drop the puzzle ball and string back into my pocket, disappointment painfully evident in his facial expression. Yeah, I'd gotten a lot better at reading the emotions of giant cobras, lately.

"Sorry to disappoint," I grunted, pausing for a quick yawn and stretch before waiting for whatever Scales had in store for me next. "But let's be real, here; did you really expect anything different?"

"Actually, I did," Scales replied. "What you were doing with your air shell, the way you were going about countering my sstrikess… For once, you were on the right track. You were finally perceiving your Vis the way it iss _ssuppossed_ to be perceived. Manipulation of energy, not matter. If only you applied that to your puzzle, you would have it ssolved in ssecondss. But I wass wrong. You have learned nothing."

Big words for a cobra.

We ended up eating a breakfast of nuts, berries, and some thin strips of meat that Scales fried on a flat stone by holding it in the air with his Vis and heating it with his own fire. I watched Scales fry up the LORAR equivalent of bacon with some measure of envy—while I'd been making significant progress with the ease of using my Aspect, I was still utterly incapable of conjuring my own fire. The only times I'd been able to do this was when I was in the middle of a fight; I'd never been able to do it consciously.

When I'd asked Scales about the link between fire and the Force Aspect, he just told me that I wouldn't understand the link until I solved the puzzle ball. No matter how many times, or how hard I tried to convince Scales to show me how to do the flamey thing, the young consort refused to budge.

_Anyway_.

Today was different from most other days.

Today, we were finally going to leave the Knightswood. We'd left the main village of Clan Nathair…uh…two weeks ago? Give or take a day or two, obviously. The only way I could measure time here was by remembering how many days had gone by, but the days had kind of started to blur together, lately. The point is, Scales and I had spent these past two weeks slowly making our way through the Knightswood while the young consort taught me the finer points of using the Force Aspect, but we were now about to leave the forest.

Finding and liberating the clans of the Desert Fires had always been our next overall objective, but it had never really been anything more than distant goal. Almost like how graduating High School seems like it's never going to happen, until one day you find yourself in the middle of your senior year, and graduation is staring you right in the face.

We broke camp and continued on our way through the woods. The trees gradually started to grow thinner and thinner, until about an hour later when I found myself standing at the top of a ridge, looking down over a beautiful golden savanna. Even though it was raining, the grass still looked like it was in bright sunlight. The otherwise flat, tree-dotted landscape was broken by rolling hills in the near distance. There were still a lot of trees covering the grasses, but the difference between a forest and savanna is that the trees are too small and sparsely spaced to create a canopy.

Giant trees dotted the savanna as well—not like the trees of the Knightswood, mind you; these trees were like those giant trees that you could find in some parts of Africa and Australia, or Madagascar. Nothing but grass, grass, grass, then suddenly _**BOOM!**_ Massive fucking tree in the middle of nowhere. Baobab trees, I think they were called…thank Christ for Wikipedia, eh? Some of the trees I could see were obviously taller than a hundred feet—these trees were even larger than their earthbound counterparts.

"So, this is where the desert clans live?" I asked Scales. "Doesn't seem very…you know…desert-ey."

"The Desert Fires are a nomadic people, before they were ensslaved by Hyperion," Glimmering Scales explained to me. "They lived in campss, ssimilar to what you ssaw at the Forbidden River."

"Yes, yes, that's all very interesting, but… I mean, don't you kinda have to live in a desert if you're going to call yourselves the 'desert' people?"

"They are the desscendantss of the People of the Sands," Scales continued to fill some of those gaps in my knowledge of my consorts' civilization. "While they live in the Golden Grasses, instead of the they retain the name 'Desert' Fires in honor of their ancesstorss. They do not have villagess like my own people, or like the clanss of the Northern Fires—they have alwayss followed the Lifebeasst herdss, which iss why they are nomadic. Of coursse, my people rarely leave the Knightswood, these dayss, sso I honesstly do not know what to expect."

That got a frown from me. "So, uh… How long has it been since you've had contact with these plains guys?"

"Two centuriess."

I blinked, coming to a dead stop. "Two centuries?" I echoed. "You… You haven't heard from the Desert Fires in two hundred years? Are you _kidding_ me? All we're going on here is a bunch of two-hundred-year-old rumors?"

"You never lived through Hyperion'ss conquesst," Scales hissed at me. "It took every lasst drop of my people'ss blood to keep the Denizen from burning down the Knightswood. Had we turned our attention to another people'ss home, we would have losst our own. The most recent taless brought to uss concerning the Desert Fires desscribed itss clanss as living in sslavery, forced to labor in the quarriess."

"And who told you guys that, if you never leave the forests?"

"Northernerss," Scales replied. "Unlike the clanss of the Desert Fires, whom we have not heard anything from, the clanss of the Northern Fires maintain regular communication with my people. They, too, ssuffer under the yoke of Hyperion'ss rule, but the Northernerss were better prepared for the conquesst than the nomadss of the Desert Fires. They are, by far, the largesst and mosst powerful of our three peopless. At leasst, they _were,_ before Hyperion'ss arrival. They have their own resisstance movement, whom we ssupply with any aid we can."

All this shit was starting to make my brain ache slightly. I made a mental note to find out more about the clans of the Northern Fires later. Now, I figured we might as well get a move on through that savanna down below. The _Golden Grasses,_ Scales had called it… Something else on this planet that actually wasn't named for me or the Old One! Maybe these cobras did have some creativity, after all.

Without any further delay, Scales and I began to make our way down the ridge.

* * *

><p>I woke up with a bit of a start. For a moment, I thought I'd seen the brutish Dersite agent who'd very nearly succeeded at killing me, several days ago. But it was nothing. Just my mind playing tricks. I half expected the Phantom to show up, just then, and put me back on edge…but it did not.<p>

I hadn't seen or heard the Phantom in quite some time, come to think of it. That was quite refreshing… I was beginning to wonder if I'd lost at least a small part of my sanity every time that shadowy figure popped up and started whispering to me. I shrugged, not really caring one way or another. I was my dream self, at the moment—it was pretty hard for me to dwell on thoughts as disturbing as those when I could be doing other things, like flying, or getting stoned. Or both at the same time.

But as I stepped toward one of my windows, my eye caught sight of my dream computer, and I remembered something from one of my more recent dreams, something the White Queen had recommended I do. She'd suggested I talk to the Witch of Light when I asked her questions about our session.

I couldn't contact anyone while I was awake, so… I guess I might as well get it done now, especially considering the fact that I'd probably forget in a few minutes if I decided to put it off. Yeah, that's another wonderful thing about being Dream Me—a slightly shitty memory. When you can jump from one thought to the next with the ease of Tarzan working his vines, you tend to easily forget things you'd previously-

Fuck, I'm doing it again.

Okay. Computer on, log into PalHassle… I scrolled down my list of friends until I found her, making another mental note to delete most of the other accounts in my friend list. Most of them would never be online again.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling gamblingTheorist-<em>

AT: gwen?  
>AT: you there?<br>GT: Yeah, I'm here  
>GT: When it says I'm online, I'm online<br>AT: hey, you never know when someone just forgets they're still online and leaves.  
>GT: You realize the only one of us who actually does that is you?<br>AT: not true, cruz does it more times than i can count.  
>GT: Cruz is the biggest stoner i know<br>GT: What's your excuse?  
>AT: …<br>AT: okay, i was told by the white queen that i should talk to you about some shit.  
>GT: Some shit?<br>GT: There are a lot of things that I would classify as 'shit'  
>GT: How about some specificity?<br>AT: well maybe if you'd shut your trap for once and waited, i'd tell you.  
>GT: Okay, whatever<br>AT: are these your hero of light powers?  
>AT: talking a lot and being grumpy?<br>GT: Bleh, sorry if I'm seeming a bit irate  
>GT: Shit on Derse is going downhill, fast<br>GT: It's just a little tiring, you know?  
>GT: Okay, what did you want<br>AT: tam and i went to prospit and visited the white queen, a few days ago  
>AT: i had some questions about…<br>AT: uh…  
>AT: when the dersite dudes tried to kill both my selves, one of them had this weird-ass black ring<br>GT: The Hegemonic Brute attempted to kill you while using an aspect ring?  
>GT: And you survived?<br>AT: wow, okay, is this shit just common knowledge, or something?  
>AT: everyone seems to know shit like this but me.<br>GT: Chill out, this is stuff I'm still trying to figure out  
>GT: I'm a Witch, not a Seer<br>GT: I'm much better at using and implementing the knowledge, less so at glimpsing it  
>GT: Glimpsing is hard<br>AT: almost like Tami?  
>AT: how she has trouble healing even though she's a hero of life?<br>GT: Tami's a Muse, which is one of the rarest of classes, and one of the most powerful  
>GT: I've seen it referred to as a creator class, but beyond that I can't be certain<br>GT: But yeah, she's not a healer  
>GT: Sylphs are the healers, and even then it depends on the Aspect they're channeling<br>AT: anyway  
>GT: Haha, sorry, I always go off on tangents like that<br>GT: Please continue  
>AT: so i asked the white queen about these rings<br>AT: and she just tells me some bullshit about how they're made from something unique only to this incipisphere  
>AT: and then she wouldn't elaborate and suggested i talk to you<br>GT: Okay, I'll be honest and tell you that this is shit I haven't talked about with anyone yet  
>GT: I've kind of been researching on my own for a while, now<br>GT: The aspect rings were given their name by the Prospitians  
>GT: Like the Queens' rings, they only truly work on carapacians<br>GT: They can render the wearer completely immune to an Aspect while in the presence of that Aspect's Hero  
>GT: In some cases, these rings can even allow their wearers to turn a Hero's Aspect-related attacks against them<br>AT: that would explain how the big fuck was able to Vader choke me…  
>AT: okay, gwen, you're actually giving me some straight answers, here.<br>AT: please, i beg of you, keep it up.  
>AT: can you explain to me why the white queen got all cagey when i asked her what these rings are made of?<br>GT: Yeah uh  
>GT: I'm still figuring that part out<br>GT: What I've found out so far is, like you said, that the aspect rings were made at least partially from a substance unique only to this game session  
>GT: Details of this substance are almost nonexistent<br>GT: I believe it was some kind of grist  
>GT: A kind of grist that does not naturally occur within a session<br>GT: Almost like an item in a game that you have to use cheats in order to obtain  
>AT: all grist comes from something, so what did this kind of grist come from?<br>GT: Uh, yeah, that falls under the 'still figuring it out' part  
>GT: There's something that I'm missing, something I can't find yet<br>GT: A link, between the substance that created the aspect rings, and something that happened in this incipisphere, ten thousand years ago  
>AT: ten thousand years?<br>GT: Yeah, a lot of the libraries I've found make references to some sort of Cataclysm that occurred ten thousand years ago  
>GT: There are no details, though<br>GT: My consorts are an easily frightened people, you understand—they're turtles, after all  
>GT: Smarter than most people I know, insanely intelligent…but still turtles<br>GT: They don't like things that scare them, makes them crawl back into their shells, you know?  
>GT: And whatever happened in the distant past of this incipisphere scared them so badly that they did not record any of the details of what the Cataclysm was<br>GT: Better to forget the horrors than preserve them in history, I guess their line of thinking was  
>GT: I'd tend to disagree… But then I wasn't here, ten thousand years ago<br>GT: I have no idea what would make a race of consorts whose first and foremost love is knowledge want to erase all knowledge of something  
>GT: Maybe your consorts might know a bit more?<br>AT: doubt it.  
>AT: i mean, i can ask…but i doubt it.<br>AT: my planet has no libraries.  
>AT: the written form of my consorts' language was lost during the denizen's conquest.<br>AT: all of their history, mythology, legends; everything is told and passed down orally through generations.  
>AT: your consorts may love knowledge, but mine love good storytelling.<br>GT: The two work best in tandem than on their own, I think  
>GT: Random question, while I still have you<br>GT: The eight of us are all figures of legend to our consorts, as I'm sure you know  
>GT: But have your consorts ever mentioned another significant figure of legend from your planet's distant past?<br>AT: uh…  
>AT: i mean, they have mentioned someone called the 'old one'<br>AT: and how this person was apparently the one who gave them their ability to use the force aspect, as well as their heightened intelligence  
>GT: The Old One, yes!<br>GT: My consorts also have a figure of legend from the distant past whom they refer to as the Old One  
>GT: The Old One raised them up from a race of simple-minded amphibians into a race of wildly intelligent philosophers<br>GT: The technology of my planet resembles the eighteenth century as a result  
>GT: I wouldn't be surprised, now, if the other six planets had these figures of the past, these 'Old Ones' as well<br>GT: This doesn't quite confirm my suspicions, but it's definitely another big piece of the puzzle  
>GT: It certainly explains why all our consorts are more sophisticated than they should be, if nothing else<br>AT: your suspicions?  
>GT: Guess how far in the past the Old Ones are from?<br>AT: …  
>AT: it's ten thousand years, isn't it.<br>GT: Ten thousand years  
>GT: Just in time for the Cataclysm<br>AT: so…what were your suspicions?  
>GT: Oh, come on, isn't it obvious?<br>GT: I don't think we're the first Heroes to live in this incipisphere

* * *

><p>I woke with a start once again.<p>

I was mildly disoriented—I'd just been woken up while in the middle of a dream. One moment I'd been in my room on Prospit, chatting with Gwen, and the next… And the next, I was being shaken back into the waking world by Scales, who was screaming at me to get up.

"We musst climb!" the red-scaled consort was shouting. "Get up, Knight, we are in danger here!"

I mumbled, still half asleep. I think whatever I said ended up coming out as, "_Mmrhfm…fuckyou…_"

That was when Scales drew his sword and used it to whap me on the ass, bringing me roaring back to reality, both figuratively and literally. I leaped off the ground, clenching my smarting butt-cheeks, calling just about every plague in the Old Testament down upon Scales, particularly the boils and sores. But before I could spout off too many obscenities, Scales's tail came whipping around, striking me across the face, shocking me into silence.

"You hear that?" Scales asked me, opting for a different, potentially more effective approach than screaming me out of my sleep.

I tried listening to whatever Scales wanted me to, but all I could hear was the rain and the thunder. _Wait_… I frowned, listening more closely to the thunder. It was a constant, dull roar that was getting louder and louder. I glanced back up at Scales. "That's not thunder, is it?"

"Not from the sskiess," the red-scaled consort shook his head, tasting the air with his tongue several times anxiously. Then he hit me with his tail again, on my back, but it was much more lightly this time. He just wanted to get me moving. Gesturing to the giant baobab tree, Scales began slithering up the trunk towards the lowest branch.

The lowest branch, unfortunately, happened to be fifty feet off the ground, and the tree trunk was completely smooth below it. I had no way to climb up. At least, not with my hands and feet.

I closed my eyes, taking several deep breaths, doing my best to ignore the thunder-like noise roaring towards us from the north. I could just barely make out a hazy shape in the distance, but the light given off by the violet rainclouds was not bright enough for me to get a good look at what it was, at what was causing the thunder.

Then I started to rise into the air.

Flying. It was a technique I'd been working at almost every day before going to bed, and it was fucking _difficult_. Ever since I'd used my Aspect to allow myself to float to the ground from the top of the Knight's Ladder, after my Trial, I'd been trying to replicate my feat with limited success. At first, I had barely been able to levitate an inch off the ground without getting a nosebleed and a headache. Even now, I could do little more than make myself drift up or down—it would be a long time before I was able to do a good Superman imitation.

Fortunately, though, all I really needed here was some simple levitation. Up, up, up into the lowest branch of the baobab tree—damn, that name never gets old, does it? I released the energy propelling me upward and sat down on the tree branch. The branch itself was probably as wide as three men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, which should give you an idea for how big the actual tree was.

Scales made it up to the branch about the same time as me. There were a couple of small, furry creatures that reminded me of lemurs sharing the branch with us, but they skittered off into the leaves when we joined them. I guess they weren't too fond of humans or giant snakes. No matter, there was plenty of room on this branch for the…however many of us there were.

After a minute of straining to see what was coming in from the north, the thunder finally arrived. Only it wasn't thunder at all, as I'd already deduced. It was a herd of hundreds, thousands of dark, shaggy, very familiar creatures—so many of them, they almost reminded me of a sea. As they thundered through the area, the sea of animals instinctively swerved around the giant baobab tree which had just become our new temporary home.

I watched dozens, hundreds of the beasts trample through the area where we'd been sleeping, just minutes ago. My stomach dropping ever so slightly at the sight, I could now see why Scales had been so desperate to get me up and moving. If we'd stayed down there, we would have been turned into two incredibly bloody, pancake-shaped messes.

I was looking at a buffalo herd, I realized. And not just like what you would see on vacation out West—small groups of bison biting off the hands of tourists, and such. No, I'm talking about actual buffalo herds…like, the kind of herds that existed on the Great Plains long ago, before the Europeans declared hunting season. It was a sight I'd always wanted to see.

I just wished it was daylight out so that I could actually…you know…_see_ it.

Before long, the Skaian 'sunlight' was beginning to return, brightening the skies in the east. I watched the buffalo herd gradually thin out until there were only a few stragglers left, trotting into the dust clouds raised up by their brethren up towards the front of the herd.

"And _that,_" Glimmering Scales took a moment to shake off a dead vine that had fallen across his midsection, "wass a Lifebeasst herd. Welcome to the Golden Grasses."


	18. III Chapter 18: Troubled Dreams

Chapter Eighteen: Troubled Dreams

I had the strangest dream, today.

We'd been moving steadily southwest, following the tracks of the buffalo herd that had nearly given us the Mufasa treatment just the other night. We'd been going at it for three days, stopping only for meals. Scales would also insist that we spar—both with our minds and weapons—every time we stopped. I kept on trying to get the string through my puzzle ball, but it stubbornly continued to refuse to be solved. I hung out with Cruz in my dreams the past two nights; he was living on Prospit full-time, now, ever since his real self had been assassinated.

I did not have any reason to believe that tonight would be different than any other night. Scales and I reached another of those giant baobab trees and stopped to make camp. We had a quick dinner, several brief sparring sessions, I completely failed at my puzzle ball again, and then we went to sleep.

And not long after, another version of me wearing bloodstained Prospitian pajamas woke up in a cozy room that existed only in shades of green.

I was on the Golden Moon of Prospit, right now… I think I'd been wandering around in some giant grassy plain, filled with towering, massive trees that had some ridiculous name that I could not remember… I think I remembered something about a cobra consort with red scales—the very same one I'd seen in a Skaian cloud during one of the last eclipses.

But as usual, I really had trouble recalling what my real self had been up to. I knew I was really sleeping on a rainy planet with gravity-defying rivers, somewhere else in this strange, dimensional pocket of what-the-fuck. This _incipisphere_. I knew I was doing something that had to do with helping the smart cobra people from my planet…but other than the occasional vague recollection, I really remembered nothing about my other life.

Usually I would wake up with very clear memories of what had come before…but they would fade within minutes. Like memories of a dream. I mean, unless I concentrated really hard on remembering. But that took hard work and focus, and who the hell wants to spoil a good dream with that?

I shrugged, hopping out of bed, wobbling slightly as I levitated up into the air before my feet actually touched the ground. Flying was so much easier, here. I could do it simply because I was my dream self right now; I did not have to rely on my Aspect to hold me aloft. Dream selves could just...fly. It was wonderful.

I glanced at my computer, wondering if there was anyone I'd wanted to contact. I shrugged before I really considered the matter, however. My last chat session had been with Gwen, and she had a way of chatting until my eyes throbbed. I think I deserved a break.

With a powerful jump, I was sailing through one of my windows and out into the Prospitian sky. I thought about heading over to Cruz's tower. He was always lounging around, smoking and strumming around with his guitars. I wondered if he would ever end up running out of weed, but the idea seemed laughable the moment it presented itself to me. Cruz would never run out of weed. He was Cruz.

I was about halfway to Cruz's tower when it happened. A sort of…blackout, maybe?

I blinked, and suddenly the golden moon of Prospit was far below me, growing more and more distant. I was flying out into space, away from Skaia. I frowned. This was not right. Trying not to dwell too much on how I'd ended up flying out into space, I just focused on turning around and heading back to Prospit…only to find that I couldn't.

Another blink, and I found myself even farther out. I was overcome by a…by a… It was almost like that craving you get to go outside when you're stuck in a classroom and you look out the window to see a beautiful day. Only in this case, my craving was to fly out into the darkness of the void between Skaia and the planets, and I was overcome with it for no reason I could think of.

And so I gave into this desire, this craving to fly further and further away from Skaia. To say that I was completely unaware of what was happening would have been a lie—it was almost like I was incredibly stoned. I could see where I was going and what I was doing, but I would easily drift in and out of awareness. My body was just moving on its own.

No, what I could feel in vibrant detail was my Aspect. I could finally feel what it was like to properly use the Force Aspect, which was what my dream self was doing, under the direction of whatever force was driving me deeper into space. I could almost feel the individual atoms and particles making up the space around me, and they hummed and vibrated in rhythm with my heartbeat, growing more and more agitated as I increased my speed.

I started flying faster and faster. I could actually feel the energy that I was subconsciously generating. It was kinetic energy. I was generating vast amounts of kinetic energy, and I was using it to make me shoot through space. That was how the Force Aspect worked—the generation and manipulation of energy, and using it in turn to manipulate matter. It wasn't about picking up a ball with your mind—it was about generating the energy to give the metaphorical ball the push it needed to get into the air.

My dream self, unlike my real self, seemed to possess a limitless amount of the energy required to use my Aspect. Had I tried shooting myself into space while I was awake, I would have collapsed with a nosebleed before I even made it through my planet's clouds. My real self seemed to be able to tap into that energy with enough practice and concentration…but for my dream self, that energy was just simply _there_. It was part of me.

And curiously, even though I was able to breathe in space here, which would suggest the existence of air, there was absolutely no air resistance or friction holding me back. I could fly at my ever-increasing velocity forever until I slowed myself down, or splattered into an asteroid. I was really hoping for door number one, there.

Not that any of this mattered, because I found myself utterly incapable of controlling it. It was like someone was remotely sparking the energy of my dream self, forcing me to use my Aspect to propel me along.

Then suddenly, after blinking again, I came to a dead stop. I found myself surrounded by empty darkness. Skaia was a distant ball of light behind me, Prospit a tiny golden speck. I blinked several times, shaking my head, trying my best to remember what had happened, to remember how I'd gotten here…but it was useless. All I remembered was flying towards Cruz's dream tower, then a series of blurry images…then right now.

And I wasn't done.

This weird loss of control of my own body had caught me off guard, but now I had returned to full awareness, suppressing the panic rising in my chest. When I felt the urge to start using my Aspect come over me again, I fought it. I broke out into a sweat, baring my teeth slightly as I pushed with all my mental might against that strong urge to use my Aspect. My skin began to feel hot, and I started getting a 'pins and needles' sensation all over my body.

Then something took hold of my mind. I could feel it… Like a completely different mind, settling itself down into the contours of my _own_ mind. In the process, my own consciousness was nudged to the side while something…something _else_ took control. Took _more_ control, rather… I think the strong urge to use my Aspect had been a very limited form of control, but now that I had started fighting it…whatever was trying to control me had now resorted to a much more direct method.

My spine arched, and my muscles went rigid, forcing my arms to splay out to both sides. Whatever had taken control of me obviously was not very accomplished at actually manipulating bodies. My body and limbs were jerked around pretty haphazardly. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and actually really painful, but I didn't stop trying to fight this foreign presence in my mind.

It almost reminded me of bloodbending, from Avatar—the _real_ Avatar, not the formerly upcoming blue-people rendition—how my body was being moved. It was like the force controlling me could pluck strings attached to my limbs, rather than actually being able to move my limbs themselves.

Finally, my spine arched further and further back until it really started to hurt. I actually grew afraid that my back would break if I strained any harder, so I had to surrender control of myself completely, or risk some major spine snappage. I felt nauseous, drifting through outer space with my own body and mind held hostage.

Then I started to use my Aspect. I could feel all the little atoms, humming in the space all around me…and I began to feed them energy. I began to generate energy to excite them. Gradually, more and more atoms absorbed the energy and their charges were altered, turning them into ions, and—wait, how the fuck does my dream self know all this? _I_ don't know what I'm talking about.

Before long, the very space around me seemed to crackle and pulse with a teeming energy as a cloud of ions began to form. And as the size of the cloud grew, I could feel myself pushing it further out into the darkness, using my Aspect to generate the kinetic energy necessary to propel it. For some reason, someone had hijacked my mind and body to fly me out into the middle of nowhere…to create some electric charge and send it off towards one of the eight planets.

I could see the planet the charge was rippling off towards. It was a darker, shadowy planet, shrouded in a gray mist. Why did it need this little electrical pulse? Was there an evil radio that needed to be fried?

I couldn't have stopped agitating those atoms and sending them off in that makeshift flare even if I'd wanted to. Every time I tried to resist, my spine started arching and straining again. Almost as if my body were willing to kill itself if I couldn't fully maintain control. I hung there, trapped in outer space for what seemed like hours. After I gave up raging against the foreign presence in my mind, I just felt weary. I hung slack, held up by my own Vis.

This was really strange—I have never once felt weary while I was dreaming. Quite the contrary; I've gone in-depth about how I always felt much more awake and clear while I was my dream self. But never tired… I think I was being drained, somehow. Dream selves were obviously capable of much more powerful displays of their controlling Aspects, but I guess even they had their limits.

And I was getting dangerously close to mine.

After what felt like at least six or so hours of this constant forced display of my Aspect, the foreign presence dominating my mind withdrew suddenly. And as it went, I could hear a familiar voice—not the Phantom's voice; someone else's…

_Sorry, dude_… That was all the voice said as the presence in my mind vanished. Just those two words…but I _recognized_ that voice. I have no idea how he was able to do it, but I knew that it was _him_… And then I swore loudly, knowing that I wouldn't be able to contact him until the next time I fell asleep. This was going to eat at me all day tomorrow.

But it turned out, I didn't even get the chance to be bothered by what had happened to my dream self. I woke up not long after my mind was released back to my own control—Jesus, the fact that a sentence like that can actually make sense is a testament to how fucked up this game was really becoming. After I woke up, I discovered much to my surprise that it was nearly sunset, and I had been in a coma of sorts for the past twenty-four hours. Scales had been trying to rouse me, without success.

I guess the force that had taken my dream self's mind and body hostage had refused to allow my dream self to fall asleep, which would consequently prevent my real self from waking up. My consciousness could only occupy one body at a time. At least, that's one of the rules that I just now decided to start living by, because it actually makes some semblance of sense.

Fortunately, though, I was still able to fall asleep after the sun went down, despite already having a full day of sleep under my belt. Hey, I guess I just have a massive sleep debt I still need to pay off. I mean, whatever; I just wanted to get back to my dream computer so I could log into PalHassle.

I opened my eyes to the sight of the green ceiling of my dream room on the golden moon of Prospit. I closed them momentarily, breathing a sigh of relief. No matter where I went on Prospit's moon, I always ended up back in my bed when I woke up the next time. I was incredibly thankful for that—I'd be stuck drifting in space right now if… Bleh, forget it. It didn't happen that way; that's all that matters.

At first I was gripped with that same desire I get every time I wake up here—to fly out, see a bunch of cool shit, and have a generally good time. But then I saw my dream computer, and the memories of my last dream filled my mind. Forced to fly out into space and generate enough ions to make a solar flare look like the squirt of a water gun.

No, I had a bone to pick with one of our mutual acquaintances, and I saw that he was online after checking PalHassle.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling gentlemanConsigliere-<em>

AT: alright, gino  
>AT: i've been waiting a goddamn day for this, asshole<br>AT: so spill the beans  
>GC: ?<br>GC: wat r u talkin about  
>AT: don't play dumb, you know exactly what i'm talking about<br>AT: you know?  
>AT: that time when you fucking mind-raped me and forced me out into space to do a goddamn science fair show?<br>GC: oh that  
>AT: yeah, <span>that<span>.  
>AT: glad to see the recollective juices flowing there.<br>GC: look bro, i'm the prince of mind, aight? it's what i do  
>GC: can't be takin shit like that personally, yo<br>GC: had 2 be done  
>GC: u were the only one who could help me<br>GC: but hot damn, it was fuckin difficult!  
>GC: normally i can just make people do shit by thinkin it, but with u i actually had to get into ur brain and fuckin <span>manually<span> haul ur ass out there  
>AT: what do you mean i was the only one who could help you?<br>AT: ever consider asking before seizing control of your friends?  
>GC: that would've taken way 2 much time<br>GC: we were on a bit of a timetable with Theo, but u saved his life  
>AT: …<br>AT: okay, i'm listening.  
>GC: uh dude i told u, i don't have time 2 fuckin explain all this shit<br>GC: Theo's safe now, but Cass's dream self is still in the dungeons  
>GC: she's gonna need me soon<br>AT: wait, what about cass?  
>GC: later<p>

_-gentlemanConsigliere is no longer hassling anomalousThespian_

* * *

><p>I shut off my dream computer with a frustrated exhalation. Did everyone here have a date with Cass Galavis but me?<p>

I wished I could do something to help out on Derse. I feel like my abilities would be put to better use out there. I mean, don't think I'm tooting my own horn when I say I'm one of the most combat-oriented members of our party; it's just fact. I'm a warrior class whose powers just happen to be very well-suited for wrecking shit. And is it wrong that I thought it was kind of a waste to put someone like me on Prospit, where nothing happens? Why should Gino get all the fun?

Maybe there was just something I wasn't seeing yet. I guess I wouldn't just end up on Prospit for no reason. Nothing in this strange dimension seems to exist for no reason. Everything existed to fulfill a purpose, or existed as a result of something _else_ fulfilling its purpose. But I guess the trick was just finding out what that purpose is, or simply being patient until your shining moment arrived. Or even just accepting the fact that maybe you were fulfilling your purpose without even knowing it.

Bleh, fuck it. Dreams are no place for thoughts that can weigh you down. I think it was high time I got the hell out of this room and did some quality flying. The Prospitians who lived on the golden moon _loved_ it when Tami, Cruz, and I fucked around in the sky. I mean, we were all just having a good time together—our dreams on Prospit were the one time we got to hang out and not give a general shit about whatever our real selves were doing. Except for Cruz, that is—ever since he'd been murdered and revived as his dream self, Prospit became his new life. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous.

Then again... Maybe it was time to make some changes. Time to shake things up. But first, I needed to unwind.

I stepped out of the window and let myself float up gently into the air, rather than soaring right off into the sky like I usually did. I let the light wind currents buffet me around in the correct general direction to Cruz's tower. As I started making some headway, I remembered to glance back over my shoulder.

During the big, brutish Dersite Agent's assassination attempt on my dream self—well, I guess that was technically _me_ at the moment—I had been able to free myself with an explosion fueled by my Aspect. While having the benefit of saving my life, that explosion had actually destroyed a good portion of my dream room. However, after two or three days, the Prospitians managed to completely repair it. And as I was looking back at it now, I couldn't even tell there had ever been an explosion at all.

Prospitians were good at fixing things, it would seem.

I began flying faster, with a bit more purpose, now. As I neared Cruz's tower, I started to hear the familiar, discordant guitar noises coming from inside, as well as what sounded like…was that _Mi Swing es Tropical?_ You know, that awesome song sung entirely in Spanish that everyone hears all the time, but no one remembers the name of?

I think it was.

As the music grew louder, the distinct smell of marijuana grew stronger. Yep, Cruz was definitely in. I reached his window, only to find myself staring into one of his hemp blankets. I frowned at the blanket, raising my hand reflexively almost as if I wanted to knock, but then I realized how ridiculous knocking on a hemp blanket would be. So I used the good old vocal cords instead.

"Cruz!" I called into the blanket. "You in there, bro?"

There was some coughing from within, followed by what sounded like a cascade of objects falling to the floor. "Come in, come in!" Cruz hollered. The blanket was pulled aside, revealing the Sage of Space in all his stoned, Spacey glory. The other three windows of his room were also blocked up by his hemp blankets. The room was currently lit by Cruz's lava lamps and the light of his TV, which had the Xbox 360 screen showing. The smell of pot hung heavy in the air, and I could actually see the smoke swirling around.

I had to say, I was impressed. "Nice hotbox," I remarked as I ducked through the window and set foot back down on solid ground.

"The nicest," Cruz's face was split by his trademark, toothy grin. As he covered the window back up, he frowned at my Prospit pajamas. "Bro, you ever gonna clean that blood off?"

"You think I haven't tried, like, a hundred times already?" I asked. "It just won't come out!"

"One of life's great _misterios_, I guess," Cruz shrugged, his mind already moving on to more interesting thoughts. He invited me to have a seat in his beanbag chair while he hopped up onto his bed, grabbing his Xbox controller as he went and sliding his Left 4 Dead disc into the console. We'd agreed to play Left 4 Dead next time we chilled in Cruz's tower, which I guess just so happened to be now. "So, you just chillin', bro, or you got another reason for visiting?"

"Well, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, but I'm also here to chill," I answered evenly. "Figured we could talk while slaughtering some Infected."

"Works for me!" Cruz tossed me a second Xbox controller. By then, the Left 4 Dead main menu had appeared on his TV. He then picked up his bong and started repacking it while I got myself signed in.

"So I'm feeling either No Mercy or Blood Harvest," I said to my friend as I started setting up our game. "You have a preference?"

"Oh, No Mercy, hands down."

"Good choice."

"Oh, and leave me Zoey!" my friend hollered over.

I gave Cruz a look. "Bro, when have you ever known me to play as any character who isn't Bill?"

"Yeah, good point," Cruz giggled. After he finished packing his bong, he quickly selected his character and got the game started. As the loading screen popped up onto the TV, he passed me his bong and lighter, offering me greens.

I took the bong and started taking my hit, grinning inwardly as I heard the familiar sound of burbling bong water. Then I removed the slider, emptying the chamber in one giant breath. I blew a sizable plume of smoke towards the ceiling, saturating the hotbox just that much more. When I passed the bong back, the loading screen went away, replaced with the opening sequence of the No Mercy campaign.

My God, it's been a long time since I've played Xbox. Not since at least…a month ago? Two, three weeks? I hadn't played any kind of video game since _before_ my life turned into the upside down shitfuck it'd been ever since the meteors started falling from the sky. April 13th. That's when the meteors started falling. How long had it been since then?

I couldn't remember.

We passed the bong around two or three times, not talking much as we played through the first part of No Mercy. Once we got to the second chapter, though, we were giggling and whooping with laughter every time an Infected went flying from our well-aimed shotgun blasts.

"HAH!" Cruz let out a belt of laughter when I tried to shove a boomer away, only to have it explode in my face, obscuring my half of the screen with boomer bile. "Get that boomer jizz off you, _amigo,_ c'mon!"

_Damn_ it, I hate boomers… I flailed around for several seconds as I was swarmed with Infected, pumping the living shit out of the left trigger, which was the melee button. That was one thing I loved about Left 4 Dead—if you ever found yourself in a tight spot, you could just back into a corner and keep on spamming the melee button until your finger fell off. And that's pretty much what I did, minus the loss of extremities.

"So, uh…" Cruz shifted into a more comfortable position on his bed as he continued to mow down waves of attacking Infected with his automatic shotgun. "What made you wanna come chill? I mean, normally you prefer flyin' around and doing stupid shit to impress the Prospitians!"

"Just needed to relax…" I shrugged. "Went through some interesting shit with Gino, yesterday, and I just needed to unwind a bit."

"What? Is he being a dick to you, again?"

"You could say that," I grunted, the memory of being forced to fly away from Prospit to create what amounted to an artificial solar flare sobering me up slightly. "Apparently being the Prince of Mind means he can turn people into his own personal meat puppets." I described what had happened to me during my last dream here, how Gino had seized control of my body.

"I'm sorry man, that must've felt motherfuckin' terrible! Why'd Gino do it?"

"Fuck if I know," I shrugged. "Said something about saving Theo's life, but he wouldn't explain."

"Makes sense, I guess," Cruz said. "Gino wouldn't do something like that for no reason—_HUNTER!_" My friend nearly jumped out of his skin as the agile, hoodie-sporting special infected came flying out of nowhere and pounced him.

I disagreed with Cruz's statement about Gino, but decided to keep it to myself. Every time I spoke out against Gino, people would automatically assume it was because I was still bitter over last year. I mean, I guess I still was…but that didn't mean I was incapable of getting pissed at him for _other_ reasons. Like hijacking my brain, for example. Little things like that.

We stopped talking about serious shit for the next couple hours. We played through the rest of No Mercy and were able to finish the Dead Air campaign before our high wore off. Well, before _my_ high wore off—Cruz kept right on smoking throughout the entire game. As the credits for Dead Air began to roll across the screen, I put down my controller, stretching and yawning quickly before standing up. "Thanks for this, Cruz," I said to my best friend. "Really."

"No prob, bro!" Cruz grinned. "Anytime you wanna chill, man, the Sage's door is always wide open! Or my windows, at least. I don't got any doors here, heh."

"Cruz…" I cleared my throat, trying to think of the best way to word what I was about to say. When I couldn't think of a 'best way', I just kinda thought _fuck it_ and jumped into the deep end. "Cruz, look… There's also another reason why I wanted to see you."

"Are you coming out of the closet, man?" Cruz raised an eyebrow. "I love you, bro, but not _that_ much!"

I bit back the dozen or so sarcastic responses that immediately tried to force their way out through my mouth. Now wasn't the time for more jokes. "I came to say goodbye, for a while, Cruz. I'm leaving Prospit."


	19. III Chapter 19: Echeladder to Heaven

Chapter Nineteen: Echeladder to Heaven

I stared at the wooden puzzle ball. The puzzle ball that refused to be solved.

I hated that puzzle ball almost to the extent of thinking that it was sentient and somehow intentionally trying to make me feel like a dumbass. I almost wished that were true; then I'd be able to smash it and _know_ that I was causing it unbearable pain. But it wasn't sentient, and all smashing the puzzle ball would accomplish would be…well, a smashed puzzle ball.

Today felt different, though. I had a fucked up dream, two nights ago. A really fucked up dream. And in my really fucked up dream, I was forced to fly out into space and create a massive current of energy, similar to a solar flare only without the whole 'sun' thing getting in the way. But there were things I remembered about using my Aspect in that way… I'd never used my Aspect that way before. _Properly,_ that is.

Would I get different results from my puzzle ball if I tried it again?

It wasn't quite daylight, yet. Scales would be awake soon. I had the feeling that I'd just end up fucking everything up anyway if Scales was watching—that's just how the universe worked—so if I was gonna do this, I had to do it now. I took a deep breath, levitated the string, sent it into the entrance hole.

I felt the string travel down the first passage, then through a junction into another passage. Then it started to feel confusing again, and I forced myself to stop, take another deep breath. I remembered my dream, and I began to do what I'd done in outer space. I began to send out faint pulses of energy…and I was surprised to find that I could _see_ the insides of the puzzle ball. And it turned out that it wasn't just a single ball—there were at least five or six layers in there and I found that each layer could move independently of the others. It reminded me of those Russian Matryoshka dolls, with all the smaller versions of itself beneath the surface; the puzzle ball, however, could not be opened. I could only imagine how it had been crafted…

I then realized that my 'wind shell' tactic I'd used against Scales, during our sparring bouts, was incredibly inefficient. Almost like using a nuclear power plant to charge your ipod. All I had to do was charge up the space around me a little bit, and I'd be able to sense incoming attacks from a mile away!

I also found that every time I'd tried to solve this puzzle ball in the past, my haphazard attempts would end up shifting around the different layers of the puzzle without my noticing. That was why it always seemed like the insides of the puzzle ball were moving…because, in a way, they _were_. I sent out several more faint pulses of energy, seeing which layers could be moved where. In the end, all I needed to do was shift all of the layers into alignment…and I was able to send the string straight through the center of the puzzle ball and out the other side. It had been so ridiculously easy that… I mean… I kinda felt like a-

"_Fool_."

I turned around. Scales obviously wasn't sleeping, anymore. I wondered how much he'd seen. "Come again?" I asked.

"You were thinking about how much of a fool you are feeling like," Glimmering Scales mused. "Everyone feelss like a fool after they ssolve a puzzle ball and realize how eassy it wass."

"Well, _fool_ isn't quite what I was going for—kinda on the PG side—but yeah," I nodded. "Still sums it up pretty well."

"You actually ssolved it much more quickly than mosst of my brethren."

"What, how long did it take you?"

"Three yearss."

We ate a quick breakfast, and then we sparred. And this time, I found I was able to block virtually all of Scales's attacks. At first, at least. After Scales realized that I was able to sense everything he was throwing at me, he began to attack me more cautiously. Sometimes he would feint an attack to my front, only to sweep my legs out from under me. Other times, he would simply concentrate his Vis into a super-dense attack and overwhelm my more spread-out defenses. I wasn't getting my ass thrown around by the red-scaled consort like I normally did, but I could see that I clearly had a lot more to learn.

Then we got right back to it. This was the fifth day Scales and I have been tracking that buffalo herd from earlier in the week. We'd lost some ground yesterday because of the stunt Gino pulled with my dream self, but we picked up the pace today. We did not stop to spar for the rest of the morning. Our lunch comprised of nuts and some strange, yellow fruits that grew high up in the giant baobab trees. It wasn't a meal we needed to stop for, so we didn't. We kept right on going.

It wasn't the buffalo—Lifebeasts, whatever—themselves that were important, obviously. It had been Scales's idea to follow the herd. We had no idea how to find the consorts of the Desert Fires because there had been no contact with them for two hundred years. If they were still around, though, Scales figured our best shot of finding them would be to follow a buffalo herd.

The clans of the Desert Fires relied heavily on the buffalo herds for their way of life. Their hooves could be used for glue, their fat for soap, their hides for shelter and blankets, and, obviously, their meat served as the consorts' main source of food—at least, that's what Scales told me. It was no small wonder that the consorts referred to the buffalo as 'Lifebeasts'. And it was Scales's hope that the herd would lead us right to the elusive, nomadic plains clans.

Well, I hoped Scales was right. All this constant traveling was getting old. I just wanted to find these plains clans and get them onto the 'Let's Go Fuck Hyperion's Shit Up' bandwagon. Then we could start moving this whole quest thing along. Things were beginning to feel a bit stagnant.

We didn't stop until nightfall. And once we did, it was another fast meal, and then we were preparing for bed.

Before we went to sleep, however, there was something Scales wanted to show me. He had me stand facing him and instructed me to watch. A flame sprang into existence in front of Scales's face after he took a deep breath. The red-scaled consort was able to make it grow in size slightly before it fizzled out.

"Fire iss the mosst difficult manifesstation of the Vis," Glimmering Scales explained to me. "Only the wisesst of uss are able to exert enough control over it to use it as a weapon. Much focus iss needed to for fire to be created and maintained."

What Scales taught me was strikingly similar to what Gino made my dream self do just the other night.

Energy. That was the true meaning of the Force Aspect, I think. I mean, that does kinda make sense—energy _is_ the driving force behind everything that works. Just ask anyone who's taken a physics class. And it turned out that creating fire was easier than I thought—it involved exciting the atoms, but not necessarily altering their charge. No, this had more to do with generating the energy required to amplify the already existing vibrations between the atoms to produce heat, and then-

Okay, this is really fucking weird how I was suddenly understanding jack shit about this. I mean, I've sat through all those science classes in middle and high school, and I've listened to the teachers drone on and on about atoms, about work and energy, about force, and all sorts of physics-related bullshit. The only reason I didn't flunk out of any of those classes was because I mastered the art of remembering enough random vocabulary terms to ace a test, then instantly forgetting it again once all was said and done. To say I _understood_ any of it would have been a dirty lie.

And now here I was, explaining shit about atomic physics. Basic stuff, very basic, don't get me wrong…but for someone like me, a theatre kid who gives less than half a shit about any and all things science…

I remember one of the first things I'd learned about my Aspect was that it was like a muscle—I had to exercise it in order to become proficient with it. I guess everything I've been doing with Scales since we left the main village of Clan Nathair could be considered 'exercising' my Aspect—we've been sparring our asses off when we weren't busy chasing down buffalo herds. And even when we _were_ chasing down buffalo herds, we still sparred when we could.

And remember, back when the underlings attacked our camp on the banks of the Forbidden River, how I mentioned that image of a ladder that I kept on seeing every time I killed a lot of imps and ogres? It was like an image of a tall ladder that kept on popping into my mind, but only the bottommost rungs had any color to them. The top four-fifths of this imaginary ladder were always dark, but now… After I solved the puzzle ball, and then right now, after I conjured my first flame… Over three-quarters of the ladder had come blazing to life.

And each rung had a title, too. They were weird, outlandish, abstract names… I couldn't really understand them. The one I was currently at was 'Pyro-Kenobi', whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. I didn't really pay attention to the titles of the rungs, as you can tell; they were all pretty dumb.

I had absolutely no idea what the significance of seeing this ladder in my mind was, but I had the feeling that I had to keep on working at it until the entire thing blazed with color. Until there were no more dark rungs. Maybe I should ask Gwen about it, next time I get the chance. She usually has a way of explaining confusing shit like that.

I stared at the mote of flame I'd conjured between my palms, and I smiled. A real, wide, genuine smile. I was _happy_. Words can't even express how fucking stoked this made me.

_I can create fire_.

I could be a real-life firebender. And if you don't know what a firebender is, that means you've never watched Avatar: The Last Airbender, and therefore you have no soul. But for those of you with souls…you'd be every bit as giddy as I felt right now if you suddenly were able to make your own fire.

Still, the giddiness had to take a backseat to sleep. And luckily, during my travels with Scales, I'd learned the art of being able to fall asleep whenever and wherever I wanted. Even after learning the secret of Force Aspect-channeled pyrokinesis, I was still able to recognize the fact that I was going to need all the sleep I could get. Scales was going to be pushing us hard tomorrow. We'd be able to catch up with the herd if we were fast.

And besides…it's not like my powers were going anywhere. I'd still be able to firebend tomorrow.

I found a nice, comfy patch of ground right in front of the giant baobab tree we'd stopped under, and I curled up for the night. I found that listening to the gentle pattering of the rain was probably one of the reasons I was able to fall asleep so easily.

* * *

><p>Today was the day.<p>

Well, _yesterday_ was going to be the day, originally, but I'd woken up before I actually got the chance to follow through with my plans. So now, as I said, _today_ was the day. The day I was going to leave.

I was going to miss Prospit. Really—I've had some of the absolute best times of my life on this golden city-planet. But I felt it was time for me to leave. Time for me to stop smoking and fucking around, and actually try and be useful.

I woke up to the familiar sight of my dream room's green ceiling. I wondered if this was the last time I'd ever see it. Before heading over to my window, I went to my desk and retrieved my iphone from the drawer. I always kept my iphone in my drawer, and that seemed to carry over to my dream room, as well. My real iphone was lying around in my house, somewhere, back on my planet…but the dream version of my iphone would work just as well. I just needed to have _some_ way of contacting the others, because my waking self was completely cut off from technology.

Now that I had my iphone, I stepped up into one of my windows and gently rose up into the sky above my dream tower. I hovered there in midair for a few minutes, gazing out over the golden moon. I could hear the Prospitians down on the streets, pointing up and murmuring amongst themselves. Every time they saw me, Cruz, or Tami, they would get all excited.

Maybe they got excited when they saw Anna, too. I wouldn't know—none of us have heard anything from her since this whole thing started. It was as if she just vanished into thin air. Her dream self, too; every time Cruz and I checked out her dream tower, it was always empty. She was gone. Yeah, I was all broken up over that.

But enough of those thoughts. Time to fly.

While dream selves can fly of their own volition, I used my Aspect to propel me along much faster than I would've been able to otherwise. I flew higher and higher up into the sky, until I was no longer in Prospit's sky. I passed into outer space, leaving the Kingdom of Light far behind me. The brilliant, blue-white light of Skaia grew closer, and the soft, satin-like warmth of Skaia's radiance began to feel like it was enveloping me, rather than merely shining down on me.

It took me nearly twenty minutes to reach Skaia. It honestly depended on how close the golden moon was to Skaia—today, the moon was pretty far off from its Eclipse position, when it would actually pass through the upper reaches of Skaia's atmosphere. Because of this, the journey from the golden moon to Skaia was a bit of a lengthy one. Before long, the burn of high-velocity wind began to tear across my face, and I found myself zooming through giant blue-white mountains of Skaian clouds.

The first Skaian cloud I flew through left me slightly soaked, so I was careful to go around every other cloud that crossed my path. Luckily flying through the Skaian atmosphere wasn't freezing me to death like flying through Earth's would. I was dry within a minute, but it wasn't something I wanted to repeat. I could see snippets of visions in some of the clouds, but I was flying way too fast to actually get a good look at what they were. I stopped using my Aspect to augment my speed, now relying solely on the flight ability of my dream self.

As I looked down towards the ground, I noticed that the earth was colored very, _very_ strangely. I guess it kind of tied into the whole 'chess' motif that the Prospitians and Dersites seemed to follow. _The Battlefield_. That was the name of the planet at the very center of Skaia, beneath all those strange, prophetic clouds. And it looked like a planet-sized chessboard.

The ground was a patchwork of giant, black and white alternating squares. I mean, it was regular dirt, just like back on Earth…only it was colored black and white, instead of brown, and arranged in a chessboard pattern. These squares were pretty big—each one was probably five square miles in size. The chessboard pattern of the ground was broken by rolling hills and sparkling blue rivers, though; it was by no means a perfect, flat surface. In many places, the black or white earth was partially, mostly, or completely obscured by grass. Trees dotted the landscape, as well. There were forests on the Battlefield, but this particular region did not have any thick woods—just the occasional evergreen.

There was a light wind about this area. A soft, warm summer breeze. I wondered if the planets of the incipisphere experienced seasons—everything always seemed to exist in a constant state of late spring, early summer. No complaints from me!

Oh, right, I almost forgot to mention the fact that there was a slaughter happening below me on the ground. There had been three large, yellow, truck-like vehicles. I think they'd been supply trucks. Right now, they were half disintegrated and still on fire, releasing three giant pillars of acrid, oily smoke into the air, carried off on a slanting angle by the gentle breeze. The remains of dead Prospitians littered ground around the three destroyed vehicles, staining the white earth with their blood.

The convoy had been ambushed by a force of the ebony-skinned carapacians from Derse. They looked exactly like the Prospitians, only inverted. Their carapaces were dark as midnight, but their eyes were white. These guys meant business—they were armed to the teeth, wearing heavy gray helmets, armored vests, and combat boots. Some of them wielded gray energy rifles of some kind—they almost resembled the World War II-era M1 Garands, complete with bayonets, and they also appeared to be semi-automatic, firing fat slugs of crackling purple energy. The riflemen hung back on the top of a ridge, laying down fire on the surviving Prospitians in the gully below.

The rest of the Dersites wielded shorter-length swords and large shields that reminded me of the ballistic shields used by riot police. These melee combat oriented Dersites were right in the thick of things, taking down the desperate, disorganized survivors of the Prospitian supply convoy one by one. They functioned as a team, steadily and methodically cutting down any Prospitian who charged them.

As for the Prospitians… They were pretty much screwed. None of them had rifles, and only a handful of them wore armor. The ambush had completely wrecked any semblance of organization the Prospitians may have had. If anyone had been in command of the supply convoy, he or she was most certainly dead. A good number of the Prospitians must have died in the opening shots of the ambush, and the survivors were no doubt still in some form of shock.

I guess they could use a little help. I mean, the Prospitians wanted to stop Derse from destroying Skaia…and _we_ certainly don't want Derse to destroy Skaia…so, following that reasoning, the Dersites were the ones I was supposed to be fighting. Still, I couldn't help but wish that the Prospitians were the badasses with the rifles and shields…

The fighting ceased for a brief moment as the carapacians all looked up and saw me dropping out of the sky. I could imagine what was going through their minds—one moment they're doing the whole war thing, then the next there's a random kid in yellow pajamas falling out of the clouds like a fucking idiot.

Then the Dersite riflemen started trying to shoot me down. When I thought about it later, I guess that made sense. They had to know that I was one of the eight Heroes…and if they had the chance to kill one of us, they'd sure as hell take it. I swerved off to the side as the energy slugs began to hiss and sear through the air around me. I could even smell the tangy, ozone-like odor of some of the slugs that came really close. I was really glad those energy rifles weren't fully automatic, or I'd be-

"_FUCK!_" I screamed as I felt one of the energy slugs graze across my left side. As I reflexively threw myself out of the way, I saw that there was indeed an automatic energy weapon. In fact, it was more than that. The Dersites had a fucking _tank_ hidden in the foliage that covered the top of that ridge. It was a purple contraption that slightly resembled a German Panther tank. I could now see how the three Prospitian supply trucks had been blown up like that—I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that Dersite tank's main cannon. The automatic energyfire that had nearly fried me was coming from the tank's mounted machinegun turret, manned by a Dersite whose head and shoulders were sticking up out of the cupola. He was the tank commander, presumably.

I was originally intending to land behind one of the burning wrecks of the Prospitian supply trucks, but my near-miss with the Dersite tank's energy turret sent me spinning off-course. Instead, I ended up heading straight down towards the top of the ridge. Luckily, although I wasn't able to access my sylladex, I _was_ able to access my strife specibus while I was dreaming, so I was able to retrieve my Roman Bowie.

I didn't really need it, though. I hit the ground running, never giving the Dersites a stationary target to shoot at. Even as I sprinted forward, I used my Vis and swept a pair of the ebony-skinned carapacians over the edge of the ridge, sending them tumbling down into the gully. I then turned to face the rest of the rifle-wielding Dersite soldiers, holding out my free hand. I could feel the energy slugs from their weapons searing through the air.

A week or two ago, I probably would have tried to stop those energy slugs in midair. But they moved almost as fast as bullets—I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good. Instead, I simply gave them a slight 'nudge', deflecting them away from me. This took a lot less energy than actually _stopping_ them.

I cleared the distance between me and the Dersites with a powerful jump. I'm my dream self right now, remember; I can still fly. I brought my slightly-oversized knife down into the chest of the first Dersite rifleman to cross my path, ignoring the gasp of pain the carapacian gave as he crumpled to the ground. I then dropped my Bowie, sending it back to its strife specibus, and I picked up the Dersite's energy rifle. He wouldn't be needing it, any longer. By then, the rest of the riflemen had wised up to my sudden presence, and they were beginning to lay it on thick. This wasn't good—with this many energy slugs coming my way, it was only a matter of time before one of them got past me and did some real damage. That's why I decided to fight fire with fire, and…

Actually, you know what? Forget whatever I was originally going to do. Time to fight fire with some _real_ fire.

It's kind of ironic, when I think about it. When I go to sleep and wake up as my dream self, I'm always a lot more spacey, more laid-back and free-spirited. I'm asleep, after all, so it's not like I'm going to be completely wired and goal-oriented, you know? And yet I was always able to use my Aspect so much better when I was asleep than I ever could while awake. I didn't even have to _try_ when I was dreaming.

I tried what I'd learned from Scales earlier today, conjuring a flame between my hands. Like I said before, when I use my Aspect as my dream self, I don't really need to think about it…the energy and ability was just _there_. The axe bit both ways, though; as I tore through the rest of the Dersite riflemen with giant blasts of flame, I could see that I was lacking a certain finesse. It was almost like I was trying to use Narsil to cut my steak—my dream self didn't have as much control over the Force Aspect as my waking self. By the time I was finished, I'd ended up burning down most the trees and foliage that covered the top of the ridge, sending even more smoke up into the sky.

I'd have to be a lot more careful in the future. If I'd been doing this with friends nearby… Best not to think about that.

I have to hand it to the Dersites—even though I was completely tearing them a new asshole, none of them ran away. They all stood their ground, clearly ready to fight to the death. I obliged them. And when the last rifleman fell, blood draining from a slashed neck, I jumped off the edge of the ridge, allowing myself to float down to the gully below.

Killing the Dersites felt different. I mean, with the underlings, I just felt like I was defending myself from a pack of wild animals. But I knew that the Dersites were sentient creatures. The carapacians were as intelligent as I was. They wanted me dead, obviously, so I had to do what I had to do…but it wasn't as easy as mowing through underlings was…

Eh, I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. I do that when I'm uncomfortable. Pardon me for not being able to slaughter intelligent creatures without feeling kinda off about it. Where the hell was my Sprite when I needed him? He'd have made short work of all these guys much faster than me. We can't all of us be psychopaths…

The Prospitian survivors had managed to rally while I was taking down the riflemen on the ridge. With the constant rain of energyfire from the ridge now silenced, the Prospitians were finally able to do jack shit without getting torn to pieces. I decided not to use any fire when I charged into the fray. If I repeated down here what I did to the Dersites on the ridge, I'd probably end up accidentally killing a few of the Prospitians, and that would unacceptable.

I discovered to my chagrin that the Dersite soldiers' shields were able to deflect the energy slugs, so I discarded the rifle I'd picked up and got my oversized Bowie knife back out. Back to basics. After dispatching my first Dersite soldier, I picked up his shield and strapped it to my left arm. I'd only used shields a few times during my strife bouts against my Sis—usually by 'shield' I meant the lid of one of the big outside garbage cans—but I was pretty good with them. I just rarely used them because they don't go very well with knives.

But when I'd combined my Bowie with the properties of a Roman gladius, it had gained a bit of a length increase. It was now almost two feet long, which was a much more manageable length for use with a shield. And the ballistic shields used by these Dersites were incredibly light—I could hold this thing up all day long without getting tired.

After I made my grand entrance into the melee and disrupted the organization of the Dersites' methodical approach to finishing off the remaining Prospitians, they all recovered from their initial surprise and started going after me. I blocked a strike that was aimed at my neck, raising my shield to take the force of the blow. I smashed the ebony-skinned carapacian in the face with the shield, running him through with my knife as he staggered back.

The breeze began to pick up, but I barely noticed. I was in the zone, now. Kill or be killed.

Another Dersite attempted to gut me from behind as I killed her friend, but I sent her flying with a powerful push from my Vis. She slammed headfirst into one of the supply truck wrecks, her neck bending at an impossible angle with a sickening snap.

A good number of the remaining Dersites ganged up on me then, and I was forced to go on the defensive. At least I wasn't getting peppered with energy slugs, again. Swords I could deal with. Rifles, not so much. I kept the Dersites at bay, resisting the urge to completely go ballistic with fire once again. Sometimes I would spot an opening in one of my attackers' guards, and I would be able to draw some blood.

Then the Dersites withdrew. Just like that, they disengaged me and started running their asses away. I flipped the double bird at the retreating Dersites, hollering insults after them as they absconded. Then the world exploded.

Damn it all, I'd forgotten about the Dersite tank…

The energy blast from the main cannon of that tank tore into the ground near where I'd been standing, close enough to send me flying through the air. I flipped head over heels several times, barely managing to right myself and soar back into the air before I hit the ground and broke my spine, or sustained some other equally painful and crippling injury. Dream selves definitely have perks.

I set foot back down onto solid ground and staggered through the tall grass, looking up at where the Dersite tank was positioned. Its main cannon was swiveling round, trying to get me back in its sights. Uh-uh. When it comes to getting shot at by tanks, I'm not a big believer in second chances. Still, maybe there was a way to handle this situation without running circles around that tank. The key would be timing.

I started walking towards the tank. I don't think the Dersite who was manning that main cannon expected me to start moving suddenly in his direction, so he had to continue to adjust the cannon's aim. The main cannon fired a second time, but I saw this one coming and dodged, quietly beginning to count under my breath.

The main cannon roared a third time when my count reached _five_. I did two things when the Dersite tank fired at me for the third time. First, I started the count once again; and second, I redirected the incoming energy shell with my Aspect. I sent it crackling over my head, where it continued to fly up and away into the sky until it vanished among the clouds.

I jumped into the air and started flying back towards the ridge as fast as I could. I guess I didn't need to be very close for this, but it certainly wouldn't hurt my chances for success. As long as I kept the count…

The moment I hit _four,_ I clapped my hands together. I could feel the raw power of my Aspect within me, and it felt _good_. I focused on the main cannon as I clapped my hands together, focused on crushing all that sturdy, purple metal. The end of the Dersite tank's main armament crumpled in on itself right as it fired for the fourth time…causing the energy shell to explode within the cannon.

I remember feeling a distinct lack of envy for the Dersite tank crewmen as the purple vehicle brewed up in flames, sending yet another column of oily smoke into the sky, adding to the smoke already gushing skyward from all those fires I'd accidentally set on the ridge.

_Whew,_ that was a workout. I fanned myself off by pulling at my shirt several times, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I was glad there was a strong breeze blowing through the area—anyone who's done any kind of strenuous activity in the outdoors understands how _good_ the wind can feel.

"You guys alright?" I made my way back over to the remains of the supply convoy. Five Prospitians had survived the ambush, and of those five I think only four were actual soldiers. The fifth was a shorter, smaller guy with a light blue cap instead of a helmet. He didn't seem to know how to use his sword very well. He must have been one of the truck drivers. I glanced at the three burning wrecks once more, marveling at this guy's luck.

I think they were all pretty shell-shocked. Or dumbfounded by the sudden arrival of one of their Heroes. Or, more likely, an even mix of both. Either way, none of them were able to find their voices. They just stared blankly. When I tried to get their attention again, I noticed that they weren't actually looking at me, anymore. They were looking at the sky.

Suddenly, the breeze exploded into an all-out gale-force wind, completely flattening the tall grass on either side of the dirt road. I was nearly blown off my feet by the force of it. The wind blanketed the entire area, swiftly extinguishing the fires that I'd accidentally started on the top of the ridge…and then it vanished.

"_Up here, Force-man!_"

The startlingly familiar voice had called out to me from above. I looked up to the sky, and my jaw nearly dropped. There was a guy floating in the air, held aloft by the breeze, who I didn't recognize at first. He was dressed entirely in blue. A blue shirt with an odd, swirly symbol emblazoned on the front, as well as a kilt with an additional length of fabric that was swept up behind his shoulders, complete with a hood.

This dude had dark brown skin and and bright, friendly blue eyes…but his fledgling afro had been shaved off, and he was now sporting facial hair, Benjamin Sisko-style. He'd also dropped a couple pounds—well, more than a couple. He looked so much different than what he'd looked like the last time I'd seen him, several weeks ago.

"Theo?"

My friend flashed me a wide smile. "This Windy shit's cool, ain't it?"


	20. III Chapter 20: First Impressions

Chapter Twenty: First Impressions

I woke up feeling incredibly groggy. I remember dreaming about seeing Theo on the Battlefield, dressed in some crazy-awesome blue highlander's getup. That'd been weird. And had he been the one controlling all that wind? And that beard!

Okay, it'd been a pretty awesome dream. But what the hell was Theo doing on the Battlefield? He wasn't a Prospit dreamer, so how'd he even _get_ there? I had no idea, and I wouldn't be able to find out for a while.

"C'mon, Scales, what the hell?" I murmured as the red-scaled cobra shook me awake. It was still dark. The only noise was the soft _tap tap tap_ of the rain. "Woke me up in the middle of a dream…"

"My apologiess," Glimmering Scales said in a clearly unapologetic tone. "I sspotted two individualss following the trackss of the Lifebeasst herd. They are not Northernerss, nor are they my people."

"Wonderful, tell them I said _hi,_" I grumbled, turning back over and closing my eyes. Then I instantly reopened them, a wave of energy surging through my veins. "Wait… Do you mean…?"

"Yess."

Well, hot damn, Scales had been right. Two consorts who weren't of the Northern or Western Fires… I mean, all you had to do was use process of elimination. While I'd hoped Scales had been right about his hunch concerning the buffalo herd, I honestly hadn't expected it to go according to plan this smoothly. I mean, I'm glad that it was, and everything…just pleasantly surprised.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It was raining lightly, but I barely noticed. I've been using my Vis to redirect the rain for weeks, now—eventually you just learn to ignore it. And the thing about the rain of this planet was that it would get really heavy only once in a while. Most of the time, it was simply a very light, very manageable shower.

It was impossible for us to track the two consorts Scales had spotted. They were cobras, after all—snakes don't exactly leave footprints. But that didn't matter. Scales and I got right back to it, following the tracks of the buffalo. We pushed hard—me sprinting my ass off, propelled along slightly by my Aspect, while Scales flew across the grassy hills right alongside me. He wasn't actually flying, obviously—he was moving in that strange, sideways motion that sidewinders were so famous for.

That wasn't very cobra-like of him, but who was I to judge? My consorts did a lot of things that weren't very cobra-like.

It wasn't until morning, when the daylight returned, that we finally spotted the buffalo herd. We'd been going at a breakneck pace, trying to catch up with those consorts Scales had seen earlier. The Golden Grasses was a savanna, but its topography comprised of tall ranges of gentle, rolling hills, separated by large stretches of flat grasslands and light woods. We had to make our way over one of those hilly regions before reaching the plain beyond, where we spotted the tail end of the giant herd of buffalo.

And the two mysterious consorts. I couldn't really get a good look at them from this distance, but I could tell they were definitely giant cobras. They were on the far side of this valley, steadily following the progress of the sea of buffalo. They seemed to spot us, however, and promptly vanished over the edge of those hills, heading further to the east.

Scales hissed something unpleasant under his breath. "They have sspotted uss," the red-scaled cobra declared. "If we lose them now, we will never find them again."

"Then we better not lose them."

We both sprinted. Down the hillside we stood atop and into the grassy, wooded expanse between hills that the buffalo had just passed through mere minutes ago. Once or twice, I nearly lost my footing when I almost stepped in a mound of buffalo shit. There was a lot of buffalo shit lying around. It took us nearly ten minutes to reach the other side of the valley, and we were both huffing and puffing by the time we hoofed it up the hillsides…

…only to see the two mysterious consorts disappearing over another ridge, across the next valley.

God fucking damn it.

Scales did not even blink. He paused long enough to catch sight of the two elusive consorts, then immediately started making his way downhill again. I followed him. This was getting ridiculous—even Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would want to be taking a breather right about now. But we couldn't afford to stop and catch our collective breath.

And so, we ended up running our asses off through the next stretch of tall grass and trees. This valley was slightly larger than the last, and there were two creeks that meandered their way through the grassy corridor. The first one, fortunately for us, happened to be narrow enough at the point where we reached it for us to simply leap across to the other side. The second creek, however, was larger than the first, and we got a little wet.

I mean, I probably could've used my Aspect to fly right over the water, but that would have taken energy. Energy which I already desperately needed in order to keep up with Scales.

Then we got to the hill. My feet were beginning to throb as we pounded our way up the hillside. I found myself feeling slightly grateful that, even though I'd completely failed at most things in my gym classes, I'd always been very good at running. Had I not already been a good runner, I wouldn't have made it _half_ the distance we've already traveled. But everyone has their limits, and I could feel myself rapidly approaching mine.

I focused on keeping my breathing steady, trying to calm my hungry lungs, which were busy sucking down air like a drowning man who just grabbed hold of a life preserver. Then I was jarred out of my concentration by the spear tip that nearly went through my face.

They'd been waiting for us. And by 'they', I mean the two dozen or so plains consorts. Yeah, not the _two_ consorts who we'd been following. I mean the two _dozen_ consorts. The two consorts we'd been following, and all of their friends who'd been waiting for us on the other side of the hill. Scales instantly started to attack, but stopped himself at the last possible instant upon recognizing his assailants as fellow cobra-consorts.

The plains consorts looked similar to the people of the Western Fires, but there were some subtle differences. They seemed to have smaller, more slanted eyes, as well as wider neck hoods. Their scales were lighter colors, no doubt due to the warmer climes of the Golden Grasses, compared to the forests or the northlands. Cyan, green, and yellow, for the most part. There was even a white-scaled cobra in the group.

And every one of them had their weapons leveled at us. But if they'd wanted us dead…

"Your futuress are very uncertain, today," a white-scaled cobra, who seemed to be the one in charge, spoke up. "One falsse move, and your livess are forfeit."

"There iss no need for hosstility," Scales lowered his sword and laid it down onto the ground. "We come in peace."

"Yeah, yeah, please don't forfeit any lives, here," I added. I didn't have my Roman Bowie out, so I just held up my hands with my palms facing out. "I'd really like my life to remain un-forfeited."

I probably could've taken these guys in a fight…but they were my consorts. I wasn't supposed to be fighting them. And killing them probably wasn't the best way to make them follow me and the Western Fires against Hyperion. Yeah, I'm a warrior-class, but sometimes I still have to use my head.

"You both sstill draw breath for one reason, and one reason only," the white-scaled consort continued. "Many dark oness and underlingss have tresspassed here, attempting to ssully our ssacred Lifebeast herdss. We have dealt with them as we would deal with any thief. You, however, had many chancess to ssteal from the herd…yet you did not act upon them. I would know the reason why."

Scales and I glanced at each other, both of us thinking the same thing. Scales had attempted to hunt for buffalo several times for dinner, but he'd never succeeded. Perhaps if he had, these plains consorts would not have even bothered to say hi to us. They'd have simply killed us without a second thought.

"We weren't after the Lifebeasts, Mr. White Dude," I tried to explain. "We were looking for the Desert Fires…you guys are from the Desert Fires, right?"

The white-scaled cobra hissed. "Sso Hyperion iss finally trying to ssniff uss out, again? He should have ssent more than two underlingss."

"We are not underlingss," Scales insisted.

As Scales went on to explain how he was not a servant of Hyperion, I ended up chuckling quietly to myself. The white-scaled cobra noticed this and leveled his spear at me, the tip of the ridiculously sharp weapon nearly touching my throat. "Am I amusing you, tresspasser?"

"No, not you," I quickly clamped down on my chuckling, regaining control of myself. "It's just… It's just funny how Scales, here, thought _I_ was an underling when I first arrived, and now when he goes to someone else's backyard they think _he's_ an underling… Sorry, it's just pretty, uh…pretty funny. Okay, I'll shut up, now."

The white-scaled consort was not amused. "We sspared you out of curiossity, but you make my patience wear thin. Give me one good reason why I should not sslit your throatss and be done with you."

I started to speak, but Scales glared daggers at me. _Shut the hell up and let me do the talking,_ his look said. I was happy to oblige him—that white-scaled fellow didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. And I never mixed well with humorless people.

"My name iss Glimmering Scales, of Clan Nathair," Scales introduced himself. "We are the ssame people."

The white-scaled consort looked doubtful. "There iss little my people have in common with the Treefolk. Your people never leave their foresstss, not even to help their neighborss."

Scales bared his fangs, a low hiss issuing from his throat. "My people warned your people to retreat to the Sands, where Hyperion could not follow. You did not lissten. You sstood and fought. And you died. Do not blame my people for the shortssightedness of your own."

Yeah, I guess that was one of Scales's flaws. He's still a pretty young dude—about the equivalent of a guy in his early twenties. And he has a bit of a temper problem. One of the reasons why his father had sent him with me in the first place was because, although he was extremely skilled with his Vis, he lacked patience. And it would take a lot of patience to teach someone like me.

Scales was much better now than he'd been at first. I guess we both needed some time to get used to each other before we were able to stop constantly fighting. But while Scales's fuse wasn't quite as short as it used to be…it was still pretty damn short. And insulting his clan was one surefire way to set him off.

"_I'm the Knight._"

I figured now was the best time to interrupt.

The white-scaled consort gave a sharp, loud, quick hiss that sounded like a snort. "You're the Knight, you ssay? Now I have heard it all… I ssee now that ssparing your lives hass been nothing more than a wasste of time," the white-scaled cobra muttered. He then turned to two of his kinsmen. "Itzli, Acalan; take their sscalpss. Leave the resst for the Lifebeasstss."

The two consorts started to slither forward, their swords at the ready. Before Scales could even go for his weapon, though, I held up a hand, and the two consorts suddenly found themselves unable to move. Yeah, what now, bitches? Didn't I tell them I was the Knight? Didn't I tell them?

The two consorts looked extremely confused, since they could clearly see that Scales wasn't the one restraining them. I could feel them fighting against my telekinetic grip, but I was easily able to hold them in check. I can't really explain it—ever since I learned how to make my own fire, my Aspect has been a lot easier to use. If my Aspect were a physical muscle, it was feeling pretty buff. Again, it's really hard to explain how something like this feels.

Upon seeing their two kinsmen immobilized and disarmed, the rest of the gathered consorts let out a collective yell and started to charge us, but I took a deep breath and snapped my fingers. A large ball of crackling, blistering-hot fire sprang into existence above my hand, pulsing with heat in rhythm with my heartbeat.

The charging consorts all drew back, startled by the sudden conflagration—control of fire seemed to be a rare thing, from what Scales told me, possessed only by those who had the deepest understanding and mastery of the Force Aspect. I didn't necessarily possess either of those qualities—I just seemed to have a supercharged Vis. That was probably part of being a Knight, or a Hero in general. And from the consorts' perspective, seeing a completely alien creature suddenly pull a giant fireball out of his ass with the ease of an old master…well, if I'd been in their shoes, I'd probably have been a bit startled, too.

Of course, they don't wear shoes because they're goddamn cobras… Boy, this really gets frustrating, sometimes. Metaphors just don't have the same flair when applied to snake people.

The white-scaled cobra was the only one who did not flinch at my little display. Instead, he surprised me with an attack of his own…an attack which completely smashed the fuck through my Vis and ensnared me, all within half a second. Glimmering Scales was the only opponent I was used to, and while the red-scaled cobra was highly skilled with his Vis, he was still young. The white-scaled cobra was much older, and his strength with the Force Aspect much more powerful. Still more powerful than mine.

I fought against the white-scaled cobra's grip, and I think I might've broken through it if I had enough time. The key word being _enough_. Turns out, I didn't have any time. The moment he felt me start to resist, the white-scaled cobra forced me down to my knees, slithering up to me and regarding me almost like a scientist would a puzzling specimen.

"What an interessting creature you are, foreigner," the white-scaled cobra remarked to me.

Then he struck me in the back of the head with the tip of his tail, knocking me out cold to the sound of Scales's angry protests.

* * *

><p>"Hey, hey, he's finally awake!"<p>

I opened my eyes to the sight of a green ceiling and the smell of pinewood. At first, I thought I was back in my dream room on Prospit, but I quickly realized that this wasn't true. Prospit hadn't smelled like pine. And while this room had four windows on each side, like on Prospit, the room itself was cylindrical in shape. One long, curved wall.

And I had a dream computer here, as well. I guess I hadn't needed to grab my iphone, after all… But still, I guess it might come in handy when I wasn't able to access the main computer. Another difference I noticed was the presence of a winding stone staircase that descended down through the floor, and a stone ladder that climbed up through a hole in the ceiling to the level above.

And hovering in the sky outside one of my windows was none other than Theo Gibbons, still dressed in his crazy awesome blue highlander's getup. He gave me a wave and pointed upwards, gesturing for me to follow as he floated up past the window.

I swung myself out of bed and hopped over to the stone ladder, climbing it up through my dream chamber's ceiling, through several feet of solid, greenish-gray stone. Then I emerged on top of what I instantly recognized as a stone castle turret, complete with a crenellated parapet.

As I looked around and got my bearings, I could see that my dream turret was connected to a giant white and golden keep that glimmered in the daylight. And the keep was simply the innermost structure of a huge castle with white walls, gleaming towers and halls, golden Prospitian banners fluttering in the wind. Prospitians filled the streets below, bustling about their day-to-day activities, while the Royal Guard stood watch.

Beyond the castle walls, I could see great, rolling hills and grassy expanses, stretching off into the distance. The ground underneath the grass appeared as giant squares of black and white earth, like a natural chessboard. Mountain ranges could be spotted in the moderate distance. I was on the Battlefield, that much was obvious…but where?

Theo sank down from the air, setting foot on my dream turret's roof. He sprinted over to me and proceeded to nearly crack my ribcage in a massive bear hug. Man, Theo had always been strong, but Jesus… "Shit, man, how've you been?" my best friend finally released me, allowing me to gasp for long-deprived breath. "I haven't seen you since that weekend at Cruz's! And damn, you're really lettin' your sideburns grow in, aren't ya?"

I absentmindedly tugged at the tufts of hair which had steadily been growing out of the sides of my face. Theo was right—they were getting to be longer than I usually let them grow. In fact, the rest of my hair was beginning to get a bit longer than normal as well. I'd probably have to go about cutting it sometime in the near future. "My hair hasn't exactly been the first thing on my mind…" I shrugged.

"Yeah, neither has mine!" Theo ran a hand across his smooth, chocolatey scalp—okay, I'm sorry, I had to make that joke at least once—obviously loving the absence of his hair. "I'm really glad I can rock the baldness, because all that hair from before was just gettin' in the way!"

I was still kind of getting my bearings, as well as slightly unsteady on my feet and a little bit nauseous. I stepped gingerly over to the parapet and leaned against it, taking a few deep breaths as I looked out over the rest of the giant golden-white castle. I could feel the soft breeze as Theo floated over next to me.

"Sorry, bro, I'm really glad to see you, it's just…" I could only give another shrug. "I kinda feel like shit, right now, and I dunno why."

"Probably because you were shot by a Dersite energy rifle."

I remembered, suddenly, how I'd nearly been seared by energyfire as I was screaming down from the sky towards the ambush on the Prospitian supply convoy. Then the Dersite tank's machinegun turret had opened fire on me, and I'd been nicked by one of the opening shots. It'd hurt, but I was able to ignore the pain until the fight was over.

"I wasn't shot; I was grazed," I corrected my friend.

Theo let out a short laugh. "Bro, I know _shot_ when I see it. You were _shot. _Lost a little chunk of yourself, there! Nearly lost part of your stomach, too!"

Without a second thought, I looked down at myself and realized that a good part of the left side of my golden Prospit shirt was a patch, stitched on to cover a massive hole left by some sort of weapon… I lifted up my shirt far enough to see where I'd been grazed, and was horrified to see a good-sized scar splashed across the left side of my lower ribcage. It was a burn mark, completely healed over…but certainly not going anywhere. How the hell had I managed to fight off all those Dersite soldiers with a fucking chunk of me missing?

_You're a goddamn Knight. Knights can get sliced up within an inch of their lives, and they can still keep right on going._

The words of my Sprite wormed their way back into my consciousness. This wasn't the first time I'd found myself able to keep on steamrolling through obstacles after sustaining horrible wounds. The Hegemonic Brute's assassination attempt on me sprang to mind. Or the time I was able to fight my way up to my first gate, even after falling over a hundred feet to the ground below.

"Eh, don't sweat it too much," Theo chuckled, landing a playful punch on my shoulder. "The chicks'll probably dig it."

"How'd you heal it? Is Tami here, somewhere?"

"Tami?" Theo shook his head. "Hell no, man, Tami's fucking around with those giant crystals on her planet, and her dream self's on Prospit with Cruz. Someone else healed you."

"Yeah, uh, which leads me to my next question…where exactly _is_ here? And if you just say 'the Battlefield', I will punch you."

Theo, who'd probably been about to say _The Battlefield,_ closed his mouth, rethought his answer. When he spoke again, he said, "This is your dream turret, bro. All you Prospit dreamers have one here, but you never use them unless you journey to Skaia. And that over there is the White Keep," Theo pointed to the keep to which the turret was attached. "We're in the middle of the White King's Castle, bro!"

I looked back out over the castle with new eyes, seeing it for what it really was. "The White King?" I murmured. I'd always known there was a White King. White Queen, White King. I knew the King was never on Prospit, though—he was always busy fighting off the Black King's army on the Battlefield, while the White Queen ruled at home. Fighting a war he was apparently destined to lose. Still, I knew barely anything about him, and now here I was, all of a sudden…waking up in his castle.

Wow.

"Yeah, bro, the White King," Theo nodded. "He's been out on campaign for a few days, but he's supposed to return before nightfall. He's a pretty cool guy, I think you'll like him. You feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I turned around and sat down on top of the parapet, rather than continuing to lean against it. "Was it the King who healed me?"

"Uh-huh," Theo nodded again. "I have to say, the King is absolutely _terrifying_ in battle…but his most powerful ability is actually a healing spell. Kinda ironic…but also pretty damn lucky, in your case! You would've died without it! Well, your _dream_ self, at least—_you'd_ still be fine. Just minus a dream self… Uh, why don't I show you my place?"

Theo followed me back down the ladder and into my dream turret. We then took the stairs that descended down through the floor. They spiraled around in a full circle before morphing into a corridor that obviously connected my turret with the rest of the White Keep. And the interior of the White Keep… The stone from which the Keep was constructed was white with a slightly golden sheen, and it almost seemed to have a glow of its own. This glow was probably similar to the violet glow of the clouds on my planet—it was much more pronounced at nighttime, when it was dark.

This corridor ran for a good length, taking us to a large central chamber. The chamber had several transportalizer pads in the center and four corridors branching out in all four directions, including the one Theo and I were emerging from. Mine was the western one. Above each of the corridors was a symbol. A white galaxy, a green sapling, a red gear, and an amber-orange crashing wave.

Space, Life, Time, and Force. The Aspects of the four Prospit dreamers. I guess my leaving Prospit was actually a normal part of this game. Maybe Prospit dreamers were _meant_ to leave Prospit, at some point. The same did not seem to hold true for the Derse dreamers, however—there were no dream turrets here for Cass and the others…so how the hell did Theo end up here?

Theo led me down the Space corridor, which eventually emerged into a cyan-hued dream turret that smelled of sage. This was Cruz's tower. Or _would've_ been Cruz's, if he still had a dream self to spare.

"This is where I've been living," Theo gestured all around to the room we were in, switching on the Xbox and tossing me one of the controllers. "It's Cruz's place, but he's living on Prospit fulltime, now, so the King just let me move right on in. I'm just glad it has an Xbox! You feelin' some…hm… We got Left 4 Dead, we got the Halos, we have the Call of Duties…"

"Does he have World at War?" I asked, grabbing the beanbag chair and plopping down.

"_Does he have World at War,_ he asks," Theo chuckled, pulling Call of Duty 5 from the cabinet underneath the TV, slotting it into the Xbox.

While I wasn't necessarily the biggest Call of Duty fan, I absolutely loved World at War. It basically combined the awesome graphics of Call of Duty 4—relative to previous installments, at least—and the World War II setting of all the earlier games. But it was also the first game of the franchise to delve into the Pacific Theatre of World War II—all other games had focused on Europe and fighting the Nazis, but World at War introduced the Japanese as a new opponent…and _man_ they were frustrating to fight against!

Theo selected one of the Russian missions, and the TV screen resolved into the opening cinematic of the level, narrated by the grizzled, battle-hardened Sergeant Reznov, who served as the friend and mentor of the protagonist. "Can you believe that's Gary Oldman?" Theo asked me, gesturing at the TV. I could only assume that by gesturing at the TV, he meant Reznov's voice. "Man, that guy is just incredible! I always thought of him as just Commissioner Gordon, then I find out that he's actually been in a _ton_ of shit that I've already seen, and I just never realized!"

I didn't answer, and we both settled into a slightly uncomfortable silence, which continued on until long after Theo and I fought our way through the wheat fields, fending off several German tanks in the process. It wasn't until that final tank brewed up in flames that Theo paused the game and called me out.

"Okay, dude, you gotta tell me what's bothering you," he said to me. "I sure as hell ain't gonna sit through an hour of awkward silence over Call of Duty, man, so you might as well spill the beans."

"What happened to you?" I laid down my controller, finally asking my best friend the thing that had been gnawing at me ever since his sudden reappearance into my life. "What the hell happened to you, bro? I mean, Gino mentioned you being in danger, then you just magically end up on the Battlefield? Aren't Derse dreamers not supposed to end up on the Battlefield until the end of the game?"

Theo blinked. "That's what's been bothering you? Don't you know what the god tiers are?"

I arched an eyebrow, not understanding what he was talking about. "The what?"

"The god tiers," Theo blinked again, clearly seeing that I wasn't following. "You seriously don't know anything about the god tiers? Fuck, that's right, I keep forgetting-"

"Yeah, yeah, you keep forgetting that my sprite is a psychopath," I grumbled for the umpteenth time, tired of having my friends always reacting to my general ignorance with surprise before realizing that I _didn't fucking have anyone to fucking teach me any of this shit._ I've kinda been learning everything on the fly.

Theo frowned at my interruption. "Your sprite's not really a psychopath, bro," my best friend seemed keen to point out. "He's exactly like you, only just…angrier…and sadder. More sad. Is sadder a word?"

"Yeah, it's a fucking word," I grunted, picking up my controller and resuming the game.

It was also kinda irritating when everyone would be so quick to point out how my Sprite apparently wasn't a psycho. Well, they weren't there when he was created. None of _them_ had to fend off any sudden, rage-filled murder attempts from my Sprite. They could all just suck it.

"Sorry, I've just been hearing some…things…about my sprite and Cass, and I still haven't been able to contact her, yet, and… I mean… _Fuck,_" I swore as my Call of Duty character received a faceful of German potato-masher. Theo's character had to run over and revive me before we could continue.

"There's nothing between them, dude," Theo reassured me. "I mean… I mean c'mon, he's a cool guy, but he's a _sprite_. Would he even have a dick, anymore?"

"I guess not…" I murmured, which could really have answered either of Theo's questions, though I failed to specify which. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Right, the god tiers…uh…" Theo paused the game again. "Sorry, I'm not much of a multitasker. When you learn key fundamentals about your Aspect, or when you complete tasks that tie into your quest, you climb your echeladder. You know how you keep thinking of a weird-ass ladder when you're tearing shit up? Bright colorful rungs with random names? I mean, it ain't like you're actually _thinking_ about it…it just kinda pops up in the back of your mind."

I remembered the ladder. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask Gwen about that… Glad to know I'm not going crazy."

"Nope, not crazy at all! Yeah, that's your echeladder, and… I think it doesn't really have any purpose other than to show you how far you have progressed with your Aspect, almost like a leveling system. The better you get with your Aspect, the higher you climb on the echeladder. And when it reaches the top…well, that just means you've become about five kinds of badass with your Windy shit. Or Forcey shit, in your case. But there is a way to continue to progress _beyond_ the top of the echeladder…and that's the god tiers."

"Oo-kay…" I said slowly, trying to wrap my mind around everything Theo was explaining.

"Sorry, dude, I'm terrible at explaining complicated shit…uh…"

"No, you're doing fine," now it was _my_ turn to be the reassuring one. "Echeladder, colorful rungs, god tiers. Got it!"

Theo gave me a doubtful look for a few seconds, but continued his explanation anyway. "When you reach the god tiers…well… I mean, you pretty much become a god. Complete mastery over your Aspect, a ridiculous power boost…and immortality."

Now _that_ caught my attention. "Immortality?" I echoed.

"Biologically, at least," Theo replied. "Gwen told me that you'll live forever, unless you die a death that could be considered either _heroic_ or _just_. If you die a death that really isn't either of those, then you just…self-revive, somehow, I guess. I dunno, this is really complicated shit, and I'm doin' a terrible job of explaining... You should really talk to Gwen about it, not me. But yeah…that's what happened to me. I went god tier. And that's how I ended up with these cool-ass clothes!"

"Yeah, the skirt suits you."

"It's a kilt, and you know it."

"Are you wearing it like a kilt is supposed to be worn?"

Theo didn't even blink. "Unless you want to go homo and take a look, that'll just have to be a mystery."

"So… You're immortal, then," I said, still having trouble grasping the concept. "You… You're gonna live forever?"

"Seems that way…"

"Okay…okay, then," I paused to clear my throat, blinking rapidly several times. Theo? Immortal? What the fuck? "You're immortal. Okay. Uh… Wow…"

"Yeah, that was my reaction," Theo grunted. "I didn't exactly choose this, so…kind of a surprise, you know?"

"I'll say…"

Another silence.

We continued to play through the Call of Duty mission we'd selected, steadily blowing our way through waves of fascist pigs until we reached the end of the level. We then continued on to the next mission, which—god damn it all—was an American campaign level, which meant—god _damn_ it all—we were going to be fighting the Japanese. And I've already mentioned how much the Japanese AIs pissed me off.

"So…" Theo interrupted the gruff, war-weary tones of Kiefer Sutherland's pre-mission narrative. "We're still bros, right? I mean, like… Nothin's changed, or anything?"

And in that moment I knew that yeah, maybe Theo's appearance had changed, and maybe he was even immortal, all of a sudden, like he claimed…and maybe he'd gotten a bit of a confidence boost… But he was still the same old Theo underneath that insane Breathy highlander's getup.

"Theo, you really think something as dumb as immortality could get in the way of one of the world's most epic bromances?" Theo didn't breathe a sigh of relief, but I could plainly tell he was glad the awkwardness wasn't in the air, anymore. "Okay, so I have to ask... Did reaching the god tiers… Is that why you're…ehm…"

"Not fat, anymore? Was that what you were gonna say?" Theo arched an eyebrow at me.

I didn't take the bait—I've known him for too long. He always used to purposefully make me feel awkward whenever I mentioned something that could be even remotely related to his weight. That is, until I wised up to the act. "That's _exactly_ what I was gonna say. Where'd your tits go?"

"Oh, fuck you-"

I barely had time to register Theo's fist before it suddenly connected with my jaw, sending me flying off the beanbag chair. It didn't really hurt—I knew that Theo could probably dislocate my entire face if he actually put any strength behind his blows—but it was still enough to make me see a few stars.

Never shying from a fight, I sprang back to my feet and managed to tackle Theo by throwing all my weight into his waist. We grappled for a few seconds, each trying to throw the other off, but Theo managed to work one of his arms around the back of my neck, clamping down in a vice-like headlock. I flailed around, trying to free myself, but Theo was too strong. Sure, I could have kicked his ass with my Vis if I wanted, but we weren't _actually_ fighting. That would have been a little overboard. Finally, I had to let myself go limp and admit defeat. Theo released me.

"Wondered if you were gonna let that one slide," I chuckled, rubbing the slightly sore spot on my jaw.

"No sir," Theo replied. "And _no_ is the answer to your question; going god tier didn't change the way I look. Learning all this Windy stuff was just a workout!"

"Well, I hope you realize that the only thing this means is that now _I_ have to go god tier," I pointed out. "Then we can both be immortal. The bromance that never ends."

"I hope that never happens to you…"

"Huh?"

For a moment, Theo's grin slipped, and he looked straight at me. "You have to die to reach the god tiers, bro. You have to die. I don't want you to die."

I slammed the _start_ button on my controller, pausing the game once again. "You fucking _died?_"

"I'm fine, man, I'm fine," Theo waved me off. "This is my dream self's body…"

"Well, spill it!" I demanded. "What the fuck happened to you? And better yet, maybe you can explain exactly why Gino decided to fucking 'Prince of Mind' me the other night…"

"It's a pretty long story," Theo said.

"I've got nothing but time."

"Okay, then… Uh… Where do I start?" Theo absentmindedly stroked his goatee. I could tell how much he loved having the facial hair there. "I really had no idea what was happening—I was dreaming on Derse at the time. After the purge, the Archagent tossed me and Dream Cass into the dungeons, and Gino-"

Before Theo could finish, there was a loud horn blast that echoed its way into the dream turret from outside. Then after it subsided, it sounded off once more. I raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the nearest window. "Two blasts for wildlings?" I suggested.

"The White King's back," Theo shut off the Xbox and rose to his feet. "C'mon, bro, he's gonna want to meet you."


	21. III Chapter 21: Anger Management

Chapter Twenty-One: Anger Management

The last echoes of the dual horn blasts were still lingering among the deep nooks and crannies of the White Keep.

I started heading for the stairs, but Theo put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "What the hell do you want to use the stairs for, bro?" my best friend chuckled. The air seemed to hum slightly, and Theo levitated a few inches up off the floor. "You ain't the only one who can fly."

"Right, sorry…still getting used to your whole immortal Airbender thing…"

Theo, being a fully realized Thane of Breath, was able to fly through manipulation of the air. I, on the other hand, could fly because I was my dream self at the moment. We both climbed the ladder to the top of Cruz's dream turret and launched ourselves into the sky, soaring up around the White Keep. There was a light, warm breeze today, and it felt good against my face as I flew alongside my best friend.

After we made a circuit around the White Keep, Theo dipped down, heading towards one of the massive gates built into the outer castle walls. I swooped down after him. We both came to a landing on top of the gatehouse. The Royal Guardsmen stationed on the walls to either side of the gatehouse didn't seem to notice our arrival. And if they _did_ notice, they still didn't react in any way. Man, these guys could give the Buckingham Palace guards a run for their money…

Then I saw the…the… The giant, towering…_thing_ that was approaching the castle gates. It was easily over twenty feet tall, and...

"What the fuck is that thing?" I asked, my voice small and quiet. I'm not even gonna describe what the fuck it looked like; it made my brain hurt just to _look_ at it. It looked like a supersized Prospitian who'd rolled around in nuclear waste and got mutated…and not in the awesome superhero way. Finding the proper adjectives to describe it to you…it just can't be done. I mean, it had wings, faint smoke trailing from its nostrils, a massive drill for a left hand, a huge broadsword in its right hand, and… I don't even…

"He's the White King, bro," Theo gave me a sidelong glance. "What were you expecting?"

"I dunno…" all I could do was shrug. "Definitely not a massive conglomeration of fuck…"

That got a laugh from Theo. "That's probably the best description of the big guy I've ever heard. The White Queen doesn't look anything like that?"

I shook my head. "No, she looks like a normal Prospitian. I mean, taller and thinner, and her eyes are different… But nothing like…_that._"

"She must not wear her ring very much…" Theo murmured.

The two of us watched the White King lumber towards the gates. I wondered how the hell he was going to fit through the castle entrance without banging his head. That was when the broadsword in the White King's hand morphed suddenly into a white scepter capped by a bright, blue-white globe that looked a lot like Skaia. He slipped the scepter into a sheath on his hip…and suddenly, the King transformed. Shrank…shrank down to a normal size, and also to a normal shape. Maybe six feet tall. He now looked like a stout, broad-shouldered Prospitian. No drill-hand, no fire breath, no wings, none of the other insane body parts...

Okay, that had been weird. Like, really fuckin' weird.

Hundreds of Prospitians had gathered in the street to welcome the White King back. As the King and his entourage—a couple dozen heavily armed and armored elite guards, just like the guards under the command of the White Guardian—entered the gates, all of the gathered Prospitians sank to a knee, their heads bowed in reverence to their monarch.

"Must be quite a guy," I remarked, watching the display of loyalty to the King.

"Well, obedience to the King and Queen is imprinted in the carapacians' genes when they're created," Theo explained. "It's kinda natural to them."

That didn't exactly click with me. "So they have no choice but to obey?"

"No, obedience is just instinctive for them," Theo clarified. "They can disobey whenever they want, but the White King has given them no reason to. The monarchs have something even stronger; theirs is a compulsion to follow the rules of the game, though, not obedience. That'd be pretty pointless, being instinctively obedient to yourself! But there's a logic to it—the Kings and Queens instinctively follow the game rules, and the pawns instinctively obey the Kings and Queens!"

"If the compulsion on the Kings and Queens is so strong, then why is the Black Queen fucking up everyone's shit on Derse?" I asked.

Theo blinked. "Like I said, the compulsions are strong, but they aren't ironclad… C'mon, let's head over to the Keep and meet the big guy."

"What was the point of coming all the way out here if we're just gonna fly right on back?"

Theo gave me a look. "I enjoy being there for the grand entrance. And honestly, I just like flying."

Well, that a more than good enough reason for me. I happened to love flying as well. We didn't zoom straight back to the White Keep, though; we followed the White King's progress as he made his way through the castle-city towards the Keep's entrance. The Prospitian residents of the castle remained bowed until the White King passed them by, at which point they would rise back to their feet and return to their duties.

Theo and I landed at the top of the steps that led up to the White Keep's entrance gate just before the White King arrived. As he ascended the steps toward us, the King glanced over his shoulder and gave his entourage a single nod. The two dozen or so elite guards relaxed and filed past the King, jogging in two perfect lines through the entrance gates and into the White Keep.

The White King gave Theo a nod and exchanged a brief glance with me before brushing past. I arched an eyebrow at Theo, but my friend just gestured for me to follow. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I followed Theo and the King into the White Keep, ignoring the heavy _**boom**_ of the gates closing behind me. Oddly enough, one of the first things that occurred to me was that the King was my height. I dunno why this popped into my head—I guess I was expecting him to be taller.

Oooh, fuck, I just realized how cliché that sounded… Sorry about that.

Like the Golden Keep on Prospit, there was a long corridor that ran from the entrance of the White Keep to what could only be the throne room. A pair of royal guards stood watch in front of the throne room doors, but they bowed their heads and stepped to the side when the King approached. The White King pushed open one of the heavy doors and stepped inside, Theo and myself hot on his heels.

One of the royal guards shut the throne room door behind us, leaving the three of us alone in the…throne room?

It looked like a library. The room smelled like cedar. All the walls were lined with fully stocked bookshelves, and there were even more shelves arranged behind and to the sides of the White King's throne… And the White King's _throne_ happened to be a simple oaken chair. It was set behind a mahogany desk, complete with a quill and inkpot, and a reading lamp. It looked exactly like a library desk. With a quill and inkpot, that is.

Once the doors to the throne room were shut, I could see the White King visibly relax. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out one of the longest breaths I've ever heard anyone sigh. The King leaned down over his desk, resting on his hands for a few moments. He then reached over to the other side of the desk and opened the top drawer, obviously searching around for some important, Kingly object.

He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds.

The White King pulled a cigarette from the pack and clamped it between his lips, patting down his garments as he did so. "_Shit, where the hell did I…?_" he was mumbling as he fumbled through several of his pockets. He then looked up at us, the corners of his mouth curving up in a sheepish grin. "Hate to ask this, boys, but do either of you happen to have a light?"

"Sorry, left mine with my other body," Theo chuckled.

"Ah, pity… How about you?" the King turned to me. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was staring. The White King blinked twice. "You have a light? Lighter? _El fuego?_ I have a zippo somewhere, but I'm always losing things… Come now, is this really the first time someone has asked you for a light?"

"I, uh… _No,_" I rediscovered my voice. "No, I, uh… No, I don't have a light… Sorry, I just didn't really expect…"

"…expect me to be smoking cigarettes?" the White King finished for me. "No one expects me to be smoking cigarettes—the Queen believes that I quit smoking over a century ago. Not a word of this is to reach her, understand? She would stop talking to me for a decade if she found out. Now, where could I have left that zippo…?"

An idea occurred to me, then. Probably one of the best ways to break the ice. "Well, now that you mention it, I guess I kinda _do_ have a light…"

Taking a deep breath and focusing my Aspect, I flicked out an index finger. There was a sparking noise, and a small mote of flame sprang into existence, fluttering weakly above my fingertip. I held the flame out to the White King, and he used it to light his cigarette. The King took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke in a cloudy plume, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so.

"_Ah,_ that hits the spot…" he remarked. "I apologize for rushing into my nicotine before properly introducing myself; I've been having a bit of a bad day. A bit of a bad _year,_ come to think of it… I am the King of Prospit, though I'm quite sure you have deduced that by now. And judging from your Prospitian Hero's garb and your pyrokinesis, you must be the Knight of Force," the White King extended a hand.

I shook it hesitantly, still kind of trying to reconcile the image of the King of Prospit smoking a pack of Cowboy Killers. "Uh… Yeah. Knight of Force, that's me. Ready to fuck some Dersite shit up."

The White King gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I like this one!" he proclaimed to Theo, clapping me somewhat painfully on the shoulder. "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time, and I was afraid you would have no sense of humor! It gladdens me to see that my fears were unfounded… Oh, and this reminds me; there is something I need to do for you!"

"Oh?" I wasn't sure if I should be excited or nervous. "What might that be?"

"Eh…" the White King hesitated for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. The carapace-flesh produced a hard clacking noise when tapped upon, which I—as a soft-skinned creature—found slightly disconcerting. "I can't remember what exactly it was. Don't go anywhere; I wrote it down in my book. Now I just need to remember where I put my book…"

The White King continued to murmur unintelligibly to himself as he vanished amidst the bookshelves that filled the back of the throne room, searching for his book. When he was out of earshot, I turned to Theo and said, "Okay, is he for real?"

"Not what you expected, is he?" Theo chuckled. "Yeah, I know, he's kinda forgetful, and just downright _weird_ at times…but he's a pretty cool dude when you get used to him. Honestly, he's been under a ton of pressure, leading the Prospitian military, and he probably would've gone insane a long time ago if he didn't start acting all eccentric-like."

I guess that made sense. I mean, I really didn't have any problem with the White King; he just…wasn't what I expected. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it was probably a _good_ thing.

Now it was my turn to laugh. "You know, he kinda sounds like Steve Carell."

"_Fuck!_" Theo crowed, startling me enough to make me jump. "Oh sorry 'bout that… It's just I've been thinking the exact same thing for the past week, but I haven't been able to come up with Steve Carell, and it's been driving me crazy!"

Another ridiculous thought occurred to me, just then. "You know what we should do? We should get him to scream _WHERE ARE THE TURRRTLES!_"

Theo and I were nearly on the ground laughing within seconds. Good thing Theo watched _The Office,_ too, otherwise I'd be laughing all by myself! The White King was visibly confused when he returned to his desk to find us busting a collective gut. "Have you discovered something amusing?" the King asked, sounding genuinely interested in what we were laughing at.

"Naw," I waved the White King off, wiping the tears from my eyes with my other hand. "Don't worry about it. You find what you were looking for?"

"As a matter of fact, _yes,_" the White King grinned, setting a thick tome down onto his desk, inadvertently knocking over the book that was already resting there.

I picked up the fallen book, pausing for a moment to examine it. It had pretty cool cover art, but I couldn't find a blurb anywhere. "_Complacency of the Learned,_ by Rose La-" I started to murmur the title and author, but the White King snatched the book out of my hands, his face blushing an almost imperceptible shade of pink.

"A guilty pleasure of mine, from a foreign instance of your universe," the King explained, filing the book away in one of his bookshelves. "I've accumulated a bit of a collection, as you can see. But we can discuss the wonders of the literary world later…" the White King said as he opened his book and put on a pair of half-moon reading spectacles, flipping through the pages until he came to a not-quite-so-recent entry. As he read quietly to himself, I could see the recollection of forgotten memories flaring in his large, onyx eyes.

"So, uh… Jackpot?" I asked.

"Hm?" the White King glanced up at me, lowering his Dumbledore glasses. "Oh, yes, I just found it here. It was twelve years ago, while I was campaigning with the Alabaster Rifles. Skaia showed me an important vision in one of its clouds. Well, two visions, really—first one, then the other. The second vision showed this very moment, our first meeting. I am afraid I need to wake you up."

"Aw, do you _have_ to?" Theo sighed. "He was just starting to settle in!"

"Oh believe me, if you knew what was about to happen to his waking self, you would wholeheartedly agree with me," the White King declared. He stepped out from around his desk and moved towards me. "This won't hurt a bit, Knight; we just need to put your dream self to sleep so your waking self can regain consciousness."

"Okay, sounds good," I cleared my throat, taking another deep breath. Then, "Wait, what was the first vision you saw in the clouds?"

"Not much point in me telling you," the White King rested a hand on my forehead. "You're about to experience it for yourself! Not to worry, though. You have a knack for worming your way out of even the most impossible of situations. Climbing a sword ladder, for instance! Best of luck!" he wished me cheerfully.

That was the last thing I remembered before losing consciousness.

* * *

><p>The rain had lessened. It had gone from a light shower to a misting spray. I only felt it for a few moments, however, before my Aspect kicked back in and started redirecting the precipitation before it got me wet. My body did this reflexively while I was asleep…but not while I was unconscious, it seemed. Wait, unconscious?<p>

That's right, I'd been knocked out by, uh… By that one white-scaled dude, the leader of all those Plains cobra-consorts. Okay, so if they'd decided to knock me into Dreamland, where exactly was I now?

The first thing I felt was the cold, hard, uncomfortable stone that I was lying on. I then realized that my hands and feet were immobilized by what felt like stone manacles. Okay, so having exhausted the use of my _touch_ sense, I decided it was time to upgrade to _sight_. I opened my eyes…

…just in time to see a dagger plunge down towards my chest.

"_Fuck!_" I screamed. Now, I really have no idea how I did this, but as I shouted out my favorite obscenity, some fight-or-flight kind of instinct must've fired up in my mind, because the next thing I knew, that dagger was exploding into a few hundred smaller pieces. Did I do that? I must have… _Man,_ when are people gonna learn that threatening my life always causes crazy shit to happen?

Now that I was no longer in danger of coming down with a chronic case of dagger in the chest, I looked around and got my bearings. I was lying on a stone slab at the top of what seemed to be a tall square pyramid, built Aztec style. To one side of me was a temple of sorts, built on the top of the pyramid. To the other side was a really steep flight of stairs that ran to the street below. Standing over me was a rather startled-looking, elderly, slate gray-scaled consort. He'd been the one with the dagger.

There was a substantial crowd of consorts gathered in the street below, obviously here to witness whatever the hell was going on here. There were another four consorts in front of the temple to my left, as well. I recognized the white-scaled consort who'd knocked me out yesterday. There were an additional two consorts armed with black swords, standing guard over the fourth consort—a red-scaled cobra who was obviously a prisoner.

Glimmering Scales.

It was hot. Almost uncomfortably hot, and there was also a dry breeze. As I looked out beyond the pyramid, I could see a small city of stone, and beyond that…red sand dunes as far as the eye could see. We were in a desert. There was an entire city built on top of a stone mesa, which rested in the middle of the sands. I guess the Plains consorts weren't exactly _Plains_ consorts… Desert Fires indeed…

My current predicament finally dawned on me, and… Well, to be perfectly honest, I was pissed. I was so _done_ with all this bullshit.

"Sacrifice?" I seethed. "You little fuckers were gonna _sacrifice_ me?"

"You are a tresspasser and a pretender," the white-scaled consort declared. "You invade our landss and claim falssely to be-"

"_Shut the fuck up!_" I snapped. "This is bullshit! This is such fucking _bullshit!_ You're supposed to be my _consorts,_ you fucking assholes! You're supposed to be _helping_ me! But no, every time—_every fucking time_—I meet a new bunch of you asshats, you decide to make it your purpose in life to make _my_ life a fucking nightmare! I had to climb a ladder made of swords for the Treefolk before they'd even believe I was the Knight! A ladder of _motherfucking swords!_ And after all the shit I go through to find you guys, _what_ do you do? You knock me out and try. To _fucking_. _SACRIFICE ME!_ I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!"

Wow, I guess I hadn't really meant to go off like that… But if you'd been in my shoes, you probably would've blown your top, too. I mean… I mean, just… Enough is enough, you know? I haven't survived all this shit only to be offed on this slab like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey. They're my _consorts_—it was high time they started acting like it.

By the end of my rant, I found that I'd broken free of the sacrificial slab, and there were flames curling up from my clenched fists, growing larger every time I shouted a new obscenity until it looked like I was shooting WWII flamethrowers off my arms. Fuck, I needed to get myself under control. I took a deep breath, allowed the flames to dissipate, waited for the echoes of my last words to vanish.

A silence had settled over the square below. I guess I got their attention.

The slate-scaled consort glared over at the white-scaled cobra, who had a look of extreme irritation on his face. The elderly cobra then turned away from me, facing the crowd gathered below. "There will be no execution today!" he declared. "The Council musst reconvene!"

"Yeah," I murmured in agreement. "Yeah, execution _bad_. Reconvening _good_. No need for a snake roast when there's reconvening going on."

There was quite a commotion going on down in the streets as the gathered people processed this rather unexpected turn of events. I guess I couldn't really be mad at all of them—it seemed a few key facts had been withheld from them, concerning my true nature. While the crowd began to disperse, the slate-scaled elder slithered off and began to exchange hushed, angry words with the white-scaled cobra who'd captured me.

I stepped away from the sacrificial slab and retrieved my Roman Bowie from my strife specibus, leveling it threateningly at the two guards who were restraining Scales. "Do me a favor and let my friend go, will you?"

The two guards glanced at one another, then promptly stepped away from Glimmering Scales, allowing my friend to sag to the ground—they probably didn't want to cross the person who'd just nearly gone supernova by having a hissy fit.

I walked over to Scales and crouched down next to him, offering an arm. He grabbed it with his Vis, using it to prop himself up, opening his mouth as wide as he could, working his jaws around, giving quiet moans of relief. "They have you muzzled, or something?" I asked him.

Scales gave a grunt of affirmation. "I very nearly bit the white warrior'ss head off after they turned on uss," the red-scaled consort admitted. "He decided to keep my mouth shut…which conveniently prevented me from sspeaking on your behalf."

"Yeah, uh…it kinda looks like things escalated pretty fast," I observed, gesturing all around us, but primarily at the sacrificial slab.

"I believe you should be thanking yoursself that it wass _our_ landss in which you found yoursself after arriving here, not thosse of the Desert Fires."

"So…what now?"

My question was answered by the slate-scaled elder before Scales ever got a chance to. The elderly cobra cleared his throat, prompting me to turn around. "The Council of the Sands will reconvene in the temple," the elder informed me. "Perhapss we were hassty in ordering your execution without possessing the full factss of the matter. I would have you join uss in the Temple of the Great Sky Flame, where your claimss may be proven true."

I bit back the number of harsh retorts that presented themselves to me. I think I was just automatically irritated by the elder mentioning something about me 'proving myself'. I've done too much of that, and I really wasn't eager to do it again. If they asked me to climb another sword ladder… I don't even want to think of what my reaction would be.

"Okay, but if anyone tries to lay a hand on either me or my friend…we'll have problems."

And with that, Scales and I followed the elder into the temple, where the next leg of our journey would be decided.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note<em>**

**__**_So yeah, I accidentally published chapter twenty twice! Sorry about that, to err is human, etc. etc. It's all fixed now!_

_-TheAmateur_


	22. III Chapter 22: Uninvited Guests

Chapter Twenty-Two: Uninvited Guests

I'll admit, I was kinda surprised at how the Desert Fires lived. From what Scales said about them, they were supposed to be a nomadic tribe of clans who roamed the Golden Grasses, living off the buffalo herds. Well, they still seemed to live off the buffalo…but they were by no means nomadic. Unless these stone cities could move on their own, which they could not.

Bleh, this was just ten kinds of confusing.

The interior of the temple was a pretty nice setup. There were two levels to the place, but we were only meeting in the bottom floor. There was only one wall on the bottom floor, making up the southern side of the temple. Set on the floor in front of the wall were several small pots of paint, all of varying colors. All the other sides of the place were open to the outdoors. Scales guessed that this was so the light of Skaia was always shining into the temple.

I guess that would've made more sense if this hadn't been a planet renowned for its eternal rain. But that's just me. I'll just be smart and keep my logic in the storage room for the time being.

In the center of the lower chamber was a stone brazier which was roaring with flame. A desert version of a council fire, it seemed. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire, coiled on elevated seats, were three gray-scaled elders, including the slate-scaled individual who'd nearly sacrificed me just a few minutes ago. There were also a dozen or so younger consorts sitting around the fire, all of varying color. The white-scaled dude was here, too.

Scales and I were made to sit down on the opposite side of the fire from the three elders. And because we were technically guests, it was customary for the elders to tell the Story of their people, just like the elders of Clan Nathair had done for me back in the Knightswood, a lifetime ago. I settled in, getting ready for a potentially lengthy tale.

Then again… Then again, the Story that I'd been told at the Clan Nathair council fire had actually been pretty short. Maybe I wouldn't have to wait very long, after all.

The slate-scaled elder in the middle began to speak. "Ssince the timess of the earliesst ssongss…"

Like the Clan Nathair council fire, the slate-scaled started by describing the time of the First Songs, the Age of Legends. It was the hazy, mostly-forgotten era of the ancient past which ended ten thousand years ago. It had ended with the time of the Old One, who was a mysterious figure of my consorts' history that I really hadn't had much of a chance to learn anything about.

_We were a simple people once, living in the three clans of the Great Fires—the peoples of the Forest, the Plains, and the Sands. Our lives were simple, our thoughts were simple…our very minds were simple._

_This was the Age of Legends, the time of the First Stories. A time before even the arrival of Hyperion._

_We were raised up by the Old One—a maiden, She Who Walks Tall, with eyes of deepest red. Sent down to us by the Great Sky Flame, the Old One gave us the gift of knowledge, and the power of Force, of the energies that drive all things. Our minds were ascended, our senses sharpened. We were capable of thoughts and emotions and actions that had previously been unknown to us, in our limited perceptions…in our simplicity._

_The Old One was given visions, glimpses into the past, the present, and the future by the Great Sky Flame, and she gifted them in turn to our elders. They foretold a great purpose that our very world would one day help fulfill. A great creation. A Garden in the Eternal Darkness._

_They foretold the arrival of Hyperion, and the sundering of our rivers. They foretold the sorrows and darkness that descended upon our peoples. The arrival of the underling swarms._

_Even now, we—the Clans of the Desert Fires, descendants of the People of the Sands—live in isolation of our world. Watching. Waiting._

_We were a strong people. A proud people. Unrivalled. Respected. We dwelled in the deserts, as was right and proper. Then the Cataclysm darkened our skies, rained fire upon our homes. We were broken. Decimated. Ravaged._

_But not destroyed._

_The People of the Plains abandoned their home in the Cataclysm. Fled to the north. Lived in the hills and mountains. We accepted what they left behind. Made the Golden Grasses our own. We flourished, prospered. Regained our pride, our vitality, embraced our new life._

_Until Hyperion took it from us._

_The Denizen's hordes descended upon this world as would a plague. None were spared from his conquest. The Treefolk retreated to their forests, the Northerners fell under the yoke of slavery within half a century. We were the last to bear the Denizen's ferocity, and we were the last to fall._

_For three centuries, slavery was the life our people lived. Forced to mine the quarries to build the Denizen's Wall. Hope was an unknown concept. Life had no meaning. We entered the time of our darkest Stories._

_This time was ended by the White Warrior. He Who Ended the Dark Stories. The White Warrior came to us in our time of greatest need. He reintroduced the concept of hope. He reminded us what it meant to be People of the Sands. And so we broke our shackles and rose up, destroyed the accursed quarries._

_Then we reclaimed that which we had lost. We reclaimed the Sands, home of our ancestors, where we now dwell to this day. Seven clans, seven cities…united as one by Aztlán, the City In The Center._

_And together, we the seven clans of the Desert Fires watch and wait for the arrival of the Knight. Eyes of blood, He Who Walks Tall._

_**Has our wait finally come to an end?**_

The question snapped me out of my reverie. The Story was completed, and the three elders now sat silently across the fire. I realized that I'd fallen into an almost trance-like state. I glanced around, half expecting to see the Phantom lurking around in the shadows, somewhere. Thankfully, it was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it all, this is exactly what happened at the Clan Nathair council fire. When the elders began telling their Story, I ended up zoning out…and then as the elder continued to tell the Story, foreign thoughts began to worm their way into my mind. I ended up hearing the story in my head even though I was not directly listening to it. I heard the Story…and experienced it, too, in a weird sort of way…

I had no way of being sure if the question at the end had actually been asked by the slate-scaled elder, or if it was just my mind playing tricks on me, again… Either way, it was enough to snap me back to reality.

"And now comess the time of truth," the slate-scaled elder declared. "I call forth Matlal, our wisesst Shaman, He Who Sees All. He will decide if you are who you ssay you are."

"Uh…" I frowned. "Don't I get any say in that? What if he's wrong?"

If the slate-scaled elder was offended, he did not show it. Instead he gave a slight grin, his tongue flitting from his mouth to taste the air. "Matlal iss never wrong."

Drums began to play—first one, then a second joined in, then a third and fourth. They kept a slow, steady beat. Gradually, the latter three drummers began to deviate from the original rhythm, adding in their own variations, but still keeping in time with the first drummer.

Then the oldest consort I've ever seen appeared. He must've been upstairs, because he came slithering down one of the stone ramps, brushing aside the buffalo hide curtain that obscured the ramp, entering the lower level of the temple. He slithered in a very peculiar way, always moving from side to side, and occasionally around in circles. It wasn't long until I figured out that he was performing some kind of dance.

His scales were a dark green color, which surprised me because most elders I've seen have had gray scales. His eyes, however, were completely white. He must have been blind…but he also did not seem to have any trouble knowing where he was going. Though he was blind, he could still see.

Matlal the Shaman hummed and chanted as he slithered over to me. I remained perfectly still. The old, green-scaled consort circled around me three times, tasting the air around me, before coming to a stop right in front of me. He stared straight into my eyes and became still as a lake on a windless day. He did not even blink.

The Shaman then drew an obsidian dagger. I felt his Vis grip my left wrist, but I did not fight it. I allowed the Shaman to draw my hand out towards him. Matlal then took his dagger and drew it swiftly across my palm, leaving me with a tiny cut. It had been quick, and the pain was gone within seconds. I didn't flinch, thankfully. The Shaman had done all of this without moving or breaking eye contact. That shit took some real focus.

Matlal brought the obsidian dagger to his mouth. His tongue flitted out, tasted my blood. For a while, the Shaman continued to remain still. I wasn't sure if I should move, or say something, or… I don't know. I decided it would be safest to simply remain the way I was. No talking, no moving. Can't go wrong there, you know?

Then the Shaman began to hum and chant once again, his neck hood flaring out, his head swaying in rhythm with the drums. He circled around me three more times before he slithered off to the southern wall and started to use the paint in those small pots to create an image.

I never got the chance to see what he was drawing.

There was a faint flash of red light, followed by light, off-kilter footsteps. The consorts around the fire all uncoiled themselves, hissing in surprise and confusion. The guards drew their weapons, but no one made a move quite yet. And throughout the whole ordeal, Matlal continued to draw.

I sprang to my feet, whipping around to see what the source of the commotion…only to come face to face with the last person in the universe I wanted to see. She was dressed in weird red clothes—a long, flowy kind of robe with a hood, and a curved, rope-like cord that was tied around her waist. The symbol of a red gear was emblazoned on her chest. She wore small, cyan shoes, which also happened to be her favorite color.

"Heey, cutie," Anna Carrero flashed me a grin, carefully making her way across the chamber towards us.

"What iss the meaning of thiss?" the slate-scaled elder exclaimed. "Who are you? How dare you tresspass in our ssacred-"

"Yeah, uh, I'm sure you're all probs a bit pissed off and confused, and maybe I'd be too," Anna paused only to regain her balance when she almost tripped over her own feet. "But, uh... I jus' need to borrow your Knight! It'll literally take a minute! Well, a minute for you, not ezzactly a minute for-"

"Anna, what the fuck are you doing here?" I interrupted. _Oh_ my god, I was _so_ not in the mood for this right now… Or _ever,_ for that matter…

Anna stumbled again as she reached me, steadying herself by resting her arms on my shoulders. She then reached forward with her right hand and tapped me on the tip of my nose. "I'm here for _you,_ silly! And your friendz!"

"Don't…don't ever touch me like that," I delicately extricated myself from Anna's arms, pushing her away to arm's length. Jesus, I was almost getting drunk just from her breath…

"Ohh, c'mon!" the Bitch pouted. "Are you ever gonna get over last year?"

"Go home, Anna. No one wants you here."

"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong," Anna chuckled in reply. "You may not want me here, but _Skaia_ does. And what Skaia wants, Skaia gets…" she added, her voice turning bitter all of a sudden. "I've come to take you back. You and your two friends."

"_Enough of thiss,_" the white-scaled cobra drew his sword and cleared the council fire, lunging straight towards Anna.

"And that's my cue!" Anna snapped her fingers before I could even make a move.

There was a bright flash of red light, followed by one of the most intense headaches I've ever felt. And I've had some killer hangovers, before, too; I know all about headaches, so believe me when I tell you how _shitty_ this one felt. I blinked, clutching at my head, trying to alleviate the pain that was pulsing around my temples.

When I looked back up to get my bearings, I instantly recognized the light woods, giant Baobab trees, and rolling hills of the Golden Grasses. We were no longer in the desert. We were back in the savanna… Glimmering Scales had been brought along with me…as well as Mr. White Scales.

I glared over at Anna, who was steadying herself against a tree, sipping out of a flask. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"I took you back, like I said I would!" she continued to grin that smug grin that I'd grown to loathe over the months. "Three hundred years in the past, to be exact."

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT III<strong>


	23. i Chapter 23: Temporal Rollercoaster

**Intermission I: Concerning a Knight and a Seer's Time Shenanigans**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Twenty-Three: Temporal Rollercoaster<span>

"Take us back," I demanded. "Take us back right now."

Anna blinked at me, taking another sip out of her flask. "Say pleeease," she grinned.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me… "Okay, fine. _Please_ take us back."

Anna pretended to think about it for a moment. Then, "Yeah, no. Can't do it! So, uh, how's the-" Anna gave a choked cry as she was suddenly cut off midsentence, grasping at her throat. Her mouth opened and clothes as she tried to speak, but something was obviously stopping her.

Mr. White Scales advanced on Anna, his dark metal sword bared. He was clearly choking her with his Vis. "No one takess me againsst my will. _No one_."

"Dude, White Scales, calm your tits!" I exclaimed, breaking Mr. White Scales's grip on Anna with my own Vis.

"My name iss Xolotl!" White Scales shouted, pointing his sword at _me,_ now. "I am the Firsst Warrior of Aztlán, grandsson of He Who Sees All, and I demand to-"

"By the Great Sky Flame, will you jusst shut your mouth?" Glimmering Scales grumbled. "If the Female brought uss here, she iss the only one who can bring uss _back_. And she cannot do that if she iss dead!"

Anna picked herself up off the ground, still clutching at her throat, her smile long gone. She pointed an accusing finger at White Scales. "You…you try anythin' like that againsies, and I'll send you into time-out! You hear me? _Time-out!_ And I'm a fuckin' Hero of Time, bitchez, so you really don't wanna know what my version of time-out is!"

Xolotl still looked like he wanted to take Anna's head off, but he relented, thankfully, and sheathed his sword. "Very well, I will absstain from adding your sscalp to my collection…for now."

The four of us settled into kind of an awkward silence, so I decided to step up to bat and be the one to break it. "So, uh… Three hundred years in the past. You, uh…you mind telling us what gives?"

"Like Gwen, I've become a bit of a history buff, concerning the past of this incipisphere. 'Course, while Gwen's read all about it, I've fuckin' _lived_ it," Anna murmured, brushing past me. We'd appeared at the top of one of the tall hills of the Golden Grasses, and Anna was walking down the hillside into the valley below. We had no choice but to follow her. She started to speak, but then hesitated for a moment.

I was losing my patience really fast. "What is it?"

"I don't wanna be a bitch, but…can you guys, like…hang back a bit?" the Bitch asked the two consorts, who both gave her murderous glares. Anna was completely unfazed, however. "Give us a lil' privacy, maybe? Jus' for a minute, so I can explain shit?"

After a good deal of coaxing on my part, Scales and Xolotl tentatively agreed to hang back out of earshot, though they both threatened to shatter the bones of Anna's limbs at the first sign of trouble. I don't think they quite understood who she was—I may dislike her, but I had nothing to fear from her.

When we were finally alone, Anna started to help me understand jack shit. She took a deep breath, trying to focus a good amount of her willpower into conveying her thoughts. "Okay, so first thing you need to understand is that I didn' choose to bring you an' your friendz here. I _had_ to. There's gonna be a lotta important shit goin' down on your planet, but none of that shit will _happen_ unless we do some fuckin' time travel shenanguns. The important dude right now is your friend Mr. White Scales, over there."

"I wouldn't call him a friend," I corrected her. "Tried to have me killed before you stumbled in… But you still haven't answered my question. Why the fuck have you brought us back here?"

I noticed that Anna had been getting more and more tense, constantly clenching and unclenching her fists, her breathing getting faster and faster. She looked at me and, for once in her life, she looked completely serious.

"Anna, you feeling okay?"

"I'm sorry," she said to me. "I really wanna help you out, but I can't. I really wanna explain shit to you…but I can't. Not now. If you know too much about the future, you start second-guessing yourself, and then doomed timelines start happening…"

I was barely even paying attention to what she was saying. She wasn't quite hyperventilating, but she was still breathing really fast… Her skin had gone ghostly pale, and I could see her sweating. Yeah, I hated her guts, but… I mean, I couldn't help but be concerned. "Okay, seriously… What's with you?"

Anna took a deep breath and blinked, trying to calm herself down. She then looked at me one last time. "I'm about to get shot in the head."

"Wha-?"

I felt the splatter of her blood all over my face before the sound of the rifle shot even registered in my brain. Energy rifles made different noises than the ones we're used to… It's kinda hard to describe. It's like a cross between a gunshot and a hissing snake. I think the closest thing I can compare it to is the sound a Halo 3 beam rifle makes. But describing the sound of the rifle shot wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind.

What _was_ on my mind was the back of Anna's head getting blown out, and the…the…_stuff_ getting splattered across my face. All I could do was blink. Anna's head flopped back and her body hit the ground. She lay there on the ground, completely motionless. Staring. I couldn't get that stare out of my head. Dead, unblinking cyan eyes…

How had I never noticed that she had cyan eyes? I thought they'd been brown… Maybe I wasn't the only one who'd worn colored contacts on a regular basis.

I could hear Scales and Xolotl shouting in the background, as well as the sounds of…other things. Vehicles, footfalls, shouted orders… I just stood there, in a daze. I couldn't stop looking at Anna's body. After a couple minutes, the initial numb shock finally began to wear off. I touched a hand to my face and it came away red.

Then I did the one thing anyone else in my position would have done. I staggered off to the side, fell to my knees, and vomited every single scrap of food that'd been in my stomach. And even after my stomach was empty, I still continued to dry heave. That was…that was just…

I've been dealt my fair share of wounds. I've learned about the deaths of a few of my friends, even though they were able to revive via dream self. I've even had the body of my dead dream self dumped into my bedroom, slit throat and all, blood staining my carpet and everything…

I've never seen someone get half their head blown off right in front of me. I… Just…

We were attacked by underlings first. Imps, ogres, flying basilisks… I could hear Scales and Xolotl tearing them apart, but there must have been too many. Eventually, Scales fell to an ogre's fist, knocked clean out, lying unconscious in the grass. Xolotl was holding up pretty well, until the Dersite commandoes entered the fray and stunned him with their energy weapons.

Wait, Dersite commandoes? What were Dersites doing here?

The underlings had ignored me. I was still in shock, still kneeling in the grass near Anna's corpse, trying with an almost feverish desperation to get her blood off my face and hands. It was all over my shirt, too…but unless I wanted to go shirtless for the rest of my time here, I'd just have to deal with it.

Anna's corpse then began to glow with a bright red light, snapping me back to reality. It started to glow… Not like there was a light over her body—I mean her actual _body_ was glowing. Then it really started to get weird. Her body started to rise into the air, and the red glow began to cycle through every single color in the spectrum, until it looked like Anna was cocooned in a rainbow haze.

The glow grew brighter and brighter until I could no longer look at it without having my eyes tear up. I had to look away. And as I kept looking away, the glow seemed to reach a critical brightness…and then it subsided. The next few things were a bit of a blur for me. Before my eyes could readjust to the sudden absence of bright, multicolored light, I felt someone grab my hand, winced as there was another flash of red light…and then…

Home.

I was back in my bedroom. My bed had been overturned, the mattress ripped to pieces, the stuffing strewn all over the floor. My posters had been torn up, one of my windows was shattered…the underlings had really done a number on the place. There was still a bloodstain on the carpet, where my dream self's dead body had been dumped. The stain continued out into the upstairs hall, and down the stairs…right where it had been prototyped with the eaglesprite. I made my way downstairs, walking slowly like I was in a trance. I wondered if I'd find my iphone—when Cruz had told me what the countdown on the alchemiter meant, I'd dropped it when I ran upstairs to complete the entry process.

No such luck. No matter—I still had the dream version of my iphone, which I could use when I was asleep. Bleh, I don't know why I'm having these random thoughts…maybe I was just glad to be back home, If only for a little-

"Sorry 'bout that."

I turned around to see Anna emerging from the kitchen, tipping the last of whatever was in her flask into her mouth. She stared up at the empty flask opening reproachfully, as if it _chose_ to be empty.

Anna. Alive.

Her head was no longer half blown off. There was absolutely no trace of the wound that had killed her. It was almost as if it had never happened…and I might have even wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing, if not for the fact that I still had Anna's blood all over my face and shirt.

All I could do was gape. "You…you're…"

"…alive?" Anna prompted me.

"I saw you die!" I exclaimed. "You… I've got your fucking blood all over me! You were dead!"

"Sorry to dispoint—_disappoint,_" she giggled. "I guess I shoulda given you more of a warning."

"Ya _think?_" I snapped. "You don't think it was worth mentioning that you were gonna get your head blown the fuck off?"

"Oh, that's what you're freakin' out over?" Anna made a face. "Dude, I _gave_ you a warnin' for that shit. Fuckin' _told_ you I was gonna get shot in the head, didn't I? I mean, it's not like it was exactly enjoyable for me, either, you know…"

"You call saying _Oh, I'm gonna get shot in the head,_ a fucking _moment_ before your head gets blown off right in front of me a goddamn warning?" it took all my willpower to keep from exploding. "And barring that, how the goddamn fuck are you fucking alive right now? I have your fucking brain matter all over my shirt _if you haven't already fucking noticed!_"

I was beet-faced and breathing pretty hard by the time I finished screaming there. Boy, I sure can yell when I'm super-agitated… But I'm reasonably sure you've already figured this out about me, by now. I've already had a few really good rants… But, still, I would recommend cutting me some slack. Brain matter all over me, okay? Fucking _brain matter_. Fucking… God, I'm just so wound up over this, I can't even _think_ straight…

Whew, okay… Deep breaths… In, and out… In, then out…

Anna's frown melted into another one of her maddeningly smug grins. "That's an even dumber reason to freak out over! I revived because I reached the god tiers; why the fuck else would I go 'round wearin' these crazy Seer robes?"

God tiers. I remember Theo talking about the god tiers… I didn't really understand much about them, beyond the fact that reaching them apparently makes you immortal and gives you crazy awesome clothes. And if you were an alcoholic, reaching the god tiers obviously wouldn't make you any less drunk…

"So you vanish for…how long've we been here, a month? You disappear without a trace for a month, then you show up with no explanation or anything, and you yank me back in time three-hundred years… Where the hell have you been?"

"Yeah, well, time travel's kinda finicky like that," Anna hummed. "It's not exactly easy for a Seer, and I could barely do it before I reached god tier. Even now, I still kinda have trouble with it… TTUI, time-traveling under the influence…" her voice trailed off into a series of unintelligible giggles. "Cops'd have a fuckin' ball with that… _You have anythin' to drink, tonight, ma'am? You know how fast you were time-traveling?_"

"So…when exactly are we?" I asked. It occurred to me how ridiculous that question sounded. Then it occurred to me how even _more_ ridiculous it was for such a ridiculous-sounding question to actually make perfect sense.

Anna gestured for me to follow her upstairs. I didn't really put up a fuss, or anything; as long as I got some answers, I'd force myself to be patient for a little while. We went upstairs, back into my bedroom. Anna grabbed hold of the ladder Cruz had placed in the center of my room which led up to the roof, but she hesitated when she saw the blood on the floor. "What happened there?" she asked.

"Someone dumped my dead dream self through the window, got blood all over my carpet," I grunted, pulling myself up the ladder after the Bitch. "And as fucked up as that sounds, it's actually one of the more tame things that's happened this past month…"

Anna made a face as we emerged onto my roof. "Your dream self is dead? How'd _that_ happen?"

"Yeah, that's the thing—he's _not_ dead," I muttered. "I mean, my dream self's already almost died twice, but he's still alive and kickin'. So I really don't know what the whole deal is—what the fuck?"

I looked up to the sky and saw that the rainclouds over my house, over the seven gates, had parted, revealing the night sky above. And I could see streaks of fire shooting through the darkness, all of varying size. Some looked like tiny lines of light, while others looked like small jets of flame. It was a meteor shower…but no ordinary meteor shower. They weren't burning up in the atmosphere of my planet, like normal meteors would.

No, these meteors were all flying _away_ from my planet. Away from my planet…towards Skaia. I could barely see the blue-white world in the distance…and it was wreathed in flame. Those meteors were pounding the crap out of it.

"Looks like the Reckoning is in full swing…" Anna remarked. "Didn't mean to take us this far forward… My bad! See what I mean? It's hard for a Seer to use their Aspect like this!"

The Reckoning… I remember Gwen telling me about the Reckoning. Derse was destined to triumph over Prospit in the war that was raging in Skaia. When the Black King defeated the White King on the Battlefield, he would take the White King's scepter and use it to draw the meteors that made up the Veil into Skaia. This would destroy the whole place, thus fulfilling Derse's overall objective in this incipisphere; the destruction of Skaia. Our job as Heroes, it would seem, was to stop the Black King before he fucked things up. And if this was the future…

"You're taking me back," I declared, suddenly overcome by a strong urge to leave. The meteors in the sky were making me anxious. And after the fuckin' apocalypse we all went through to escape Earth… I think I was allowed to feel a little anxious from seeing a fuckton of meteors roaring through the sky. "We left my friend three hundred years in the past, and we're going to get him back."

Much to my surprise, Anna actually gave a nod of agreement. She was going to be helpful, for a change. Imagine that!

"We'll get the red snake guy back," Anna said to me. "But we won't be getting him back from when we left him. I jus', like, wanted to wait for you to calm your tits before I took you back. Figured seein' your house again would calm your ass down. We'll be doin' some serious time traveling, and I can't have you freakin' out!" Anna then reached into a pocket under her shirt and pulled out two silver rings. "Some of Gwen's handiwork," she explained. "Makes the wearer invisible. Dunno how they work, she mentioned somethin' 'bout bendin' light, which makes sense I guess 'cuz she's the _Witch_ of Light, and she's an absolute goddess when it comes to alchemizing-"

Oh my god, just shut the fuck up and take me back!

I didn't actually say this, but every fiber of my being was aching to. I just let Anna ramble for a bit until she held out the rings. When I took one of the rings, Anna slid the other one onto her finger. Her body seemed to shimmer for a second before suddenly vanishing. The invisibility wasn't perfect—I could still see a kind of haze in the air, almost like heat distortion, wherever Anna walked…but the only reason I could see it so easily, I feel, was because I was _looking_ for it. If I wasn't looking for it, I probably wouldn't see it.

Then I put on my own ring, and Anna popped back into view. I gave a grunt of surprise, holding out my hands. I could see them, as well as my body. "Did, uh… Is it working?" I asked.

"Yep!" Anna's grin widened, holding up her hand and wiggling the finger she wore her ring on. "Workin' like a dream! An awesome-sauce, invisible dream. You ready to go?"

"_Yes-_" I started to snap, but I bit down on the insides of my cheeks and forced myself to give a more calm response. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's go."

"And one more thing," Anna quickly added. "There's a reason I had Gwen make those rings. We're gonna see some fucked up shit, you an' I. But we can't interfere. You're only here to witness shit. If you decide to go an' interfere whenever and wherever you want, you'll create a doomed timeline, and trust me—you do not want to be in a doomed timeline. The only reason I'm bringin' you alongsies is 'cuz there'll come a point in time where you'll actually _need_ to interfere, but only once. I'm callin' it the Push. And you should really be the one to do it."

"Fucked up shit, no interfering except when Skaia says it's okay, something about pushing," I rattled off each thing Anna had said like a shopping list. "Got it. Let's get the fuck outta here…"

I glanced up at the sky as Anna grabbed my hand, getting one last glimpse of the meteor-ridden sky before we vanished into a vortex of Time shit.


	24. i Chapter 24: A Taste for Freedom

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Taste for Freedom

It was morning, and we were back in the Golden Grasses; that much was obvious. We'd materialized in front of a giant Baobab tree that rested on top of a ridge. I wondered if it was one of the various trees Scales and I had taken shelter in during our trek across the Golden Grasses, but I quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous. There were thousands of trees.

There was something…something…_off_ about the Golden Grasses, however. It wasn't quite as…Golden. It seemed grayer, more dead. The violet rainclouds hung low in the sky, gently raining a light shower over the land. But all throughout the Golden Grasses was a kind of haze, a kind of fog…

"It's dust," Anna said. "You were wonderin' what all the crap in the air was—it's dust. Now c'mon, let's take a walk." She started to head down the ridge, back into the grasslands, pointed to the next ridge over. "See anythin' interesting up there?" she asked me.

I squinted, trying to make out anything that could be qualified as 'interesting'. That was when my gaze settled on a tall, dark shape… It was a tower, I realized. I pointed this out to Anna, and she gave an affirming nod. "It's a guard tower," she said. She then wiggled her ring finger, the one with one of the light-bending rings Gwen had given us. "Can't see us, obviously, so don' worry!"

"What's it guarding?" I asked.

Anna's initial response was a giggle. "Sorry, I jus' think it's funny that I know more about your own consorts than _you_ do! But I really don' have to explain anything, right now. Once we get to the top of that ridge, you'll understand jack shit."

We made the next part of our journey in silence, thank Christ. I found I enjoyed Anna a hell of a lot more when she wasn't talking. It took us about half an hour to make it to the other side of the valley we were currently in. We passed by three more Baobab trees and crossed two creeks, and still the silence persisted. I was loving every moment of it.

When we reached the top of the next ridge, however…the silence grew oppressive.

I was looking down at…at… I saw fences. Lots of fences…a great big, circular fence, maybe three or so miles in diameter, dotted with guard towers… Within the giant fence, I saw ramshackle, wooden buildings. Slums. In the center of the compound was an open area of dusty ground. There was no grass inside the compound…just mud and rock.

And nestled within the northern end of the compound was a smaller, sub-compound comprising of several purple buildings that almost resembled mansions. The sub-compound was surrounded by a solid rock wall. I could see shapes, figures moving about within the compound, but I was too far away to get a good look at them. But the compound wasn't even the thing that captivated my attention.

What captivated me the most was the ridge to our east. Or rather, what was _left_ of the ridge to our east. The earth, grass, and trees that formed the top layer had all been stripped away, exposing the bare rock underneath. And though I really couldn't get a good look at this distance…it didn't take a genius to see that there were people down there, picking away at that rock. This was a quarry. A giant quarry.

"Startin' to remember your consorts' history?" Anna prompted me. "C'mon, we're gonna pay a proper visit." She then continued to walk, beginning the descent down the hillside, into the valley below. I had no choice but to follow. We walked straight past the guard tower without raising any alarms, so it was safe to assume that Gwen's One Ring knockoffs were working properly.

I didn't break the silence until we were already a good ways away from the ridge we'd just come off of. "So, when are we? Not the same time we visited _last_ time, I'm assuming?"

Anna shook her head. "Like I said, time travel's really screwy for me… But there are various points in time that are extremely easy for me to travel to. I like to call 'em Events, 'cuz they play a critical role in maintaining the stability of the alpha timeline. Some of 'em are jus' a few hours long, some of 'em can be years long. It's much easier for me to time-travel within an Event than it is for me to jus' jump to random points on the timeline."

"So…is this an Event that we're in right now?"

"Yepperz!" Anna beamed. "See, whoever said Knights couldn't use their brains; you're gettin' the hang of it already! This is the first Event we'll be visitating. Right now, we're still in the same Event we were in when we dropped off your friendz—just a later part of it."

"Oh-kaay…" I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around this sudden influx of Anna's made-up Time jargon. It was a lot to take in, okay? Of course, due to the absence of a certain winged psychopath who was supposed to be my guide through this nightmare, I've become quite adept at learning shit on the fly. "Okay…so then, how long has it been since we left Scales and Xolotl here? Relative to them?"

Anna paused to think about it for a moment. "About three months," she replied.

My stomach nearly did a flip-flop. Three months? Scales has been stuck in a quarry for three goddamn months? Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Ringo; he must hate my guts, by now!

"_Three fucking months?_" This time, my mental outburst translated quite smoothly into words.

"If ya think he's gonna be pissed, don' worry!" Anna waved a dismissive hand. "You'll be one of the _last_ things on his mind, trust me on that one…"

We fell silent once more as we approached the fenced compound. There was a gate built into the eastern part of the fence, but we'd approached it from the south, so we just headed straight for the fence itself. It was a chain link fence, maybe twenty or twenty-five feet tall, with barbed wire at the top. And when I reached towards the fence, Anna grabbed my wrist.

"_Don't,_" she warned me. "It's electrified. You'll need to get us in."

"How'll I do that?"

"Gee, I dunno," the Bitch rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should do a Forcey thing. C'mon, let's go."

When I motioned for her to grab my hand, she knocked it aside and wrapped her arms around me, holding me close. I bit down on the inside of my cheeks once again, biting back the stream of profanity that attempted to burst forth. I'll admit, it was much easier for me to use my Aspect to levitate us into the air when we were…like this…instead of just holding hands, but…

Just kill me now.

I focused on my Aspect and used it to lift Anna and myself up into the air, slowly clearing the fence, drifting over the barbed wire, and gently lowering ourselves to the ground on the other side. I kept resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose the whole time. Anna didn't smell bad, or anything…it was just her breath. It was like she was breathing out vodka, the smell was so powerful…

I nearly threw her off me when we reached the ground, but I forced myself to be more gentle. She was the time-traveler, and I was stuck three hundred years in the past—she kinda had me by the balls, here. I could act civil when I needed to…especially when I _really_ didn't want to…

My thoughts of Anna quickly vanished, however, as we started making our way into the giant compound. The place looked and smelled like shit. Actual, literal shit. There was defecation piled in some of the alleys between slums. There was another smell about the area that I really couldn't identify very well…but when we saw the first few corpses, I realized that it was quite simply the smell of death. Dead, rotting bodies lying in the mud…

As we got nearer to the camp, we'd gotten off the ridge, so I wasn't able to get a good look inside until now. It was not until now that I realized that the people living in this compound were my consorts. Thin, emaciated cobra-consorts. Scales of cyan and green, of yellow and light brown. Slanted eyes, wider neck hoods…these were consorts from the clans of the Desert Fires.

Enslaved. Working in the quarries, just like the slate-scaled elder had said.

We wandered through the camp, Anna doing her best to avoid stumbling into anything. Yeah, she was pretty drunk, but she's been like that for years. Learning how to walk while intoxicated was one of the first skills she'd mastered. As for me… I had to keep from stumbling over shit because I was too busy taking in everything around me.

As we got closer to the center of camp, we began seeing more of the consorts who were imprisoned here. They just kind of milled around aimlessly. The ones who were here were either extremely young, or gray-scaled elders. The ones who were alive, at least.

And patrolling the camp, as well as manning the guard towers that dotted the giant fence, were armed Dersite soldiers. Every so often, I would see a Dersite brutally club down a passing consort for no apparent reason. Sometimes it would be because the consort failed to show a proper level of respect, other times I guess the guards were simply bored, or feeling a cruel streak. The first few times I saw this happen, a red-hot rage ignited in my stomach…but when I moved to help the fallen consorts, Anna would stop me. Then I'd remember her warning about interfering and creating doomed timelines, and I'd grudgingly relent. It wasn't easy, though.

I broke the silence when we arrived at the parade grounds in the center of the compound. I felt nauseated by what I just saw, by what I was still seeing… But I didn't dare throw up, for fear of alerting anyone within earshot. "Jesus Christ, it's like fucking Auschwitz in here…" I murmured, my voice quiet and subdued. "This is what the Desert Fires went through?"

"It's not quite so bad as Auschwitz, I think," Anna sighed. Even Anna's eternally cheerily drunken self could not remain unaffected by the atmosphere of this hellhole. "This place is just a labor camp—the consorts are worked to the bone 'till they keel over, 'till they catch some disease, or until they get old and die from that. It's absolutely terrible, and it's designed to work the poor snakes to death…but it's not designed to fuckin' exterminate them. I'd say this is probs closer to a Russian gulag."

I could see the point she was trying to make…but it really didn't matter to me. Saying something isn't 'quite as bad' as Auschwitz doesn't mean jack shit! That's like saying something isn't 'quite as greasy' as a burger from Five Guys. It doesn't mean a thing. It could be 'not quite as greasy' as a burger from Five Guys, but still be pretty damn greasy!

I'm sorry, I just… Those kinds of similes are one of my 'run home to mama' ticks that come out when I can't really deal with something…

As I took a moment to fight down my nausea and catch my breath, I thought back and reflected on the Story the slate-scaled elder had told me, back in the temple of the City In The Center. He'd spoken of the enslavement of the Desert Fires, but then…then he'd mentioned how someone known as the 'White Warrior' came to the enslaved clans and, in a nutshell, liberated them. Damn, I was kinda pissed that it'd taken me this long to connect such blatantly obvious dots.

"You said you knew the history of my consorts?" I asked Anna. When she nodded, I went on. "Okay, so… So, the elders then told me that this guy shows up, and-"

"Xolotl is the White Warrior from the Story," Anna interrupted, stifling a yawn. "Sorry, didn' really feel like draggin' out the suspenz—_suspense_ any longer. That's why I said Mr. White Scales was the man of the hour. For the past three months, he and your red-scaled friend have been planning an uprising in this camp. Today is the day they put that plan into action."

"Okay, great," I cleared my throat uncomfortably, resisting the urge to start tapping my foot. "So we take Xolotl and dump him in the past. Xolotl does his thing, makes friends, inspires peeps and all that jazz, and sparks an uprising. Then we bring him back?"

Anna hesitated, unsure of how to respond to what I thought was a very cut-and-dry question. Then she said, "I wish it were that simple." And that was all she had to say on the matter. No matter how hard I tried to press her for answers, she refused to give any. After a few minutes, she finally relented…but only a bit. "This is only the first Event we're visiting, and this one won't need any interfering until the very end. Whatever happens…all we can do is observe."

Something about Anna's tone of voice gave me the feeling that whatever was going to happen… I wasn't gonna like it.

Anna clicked her tongue impatiently and held out her left hand. A large, red and black wine glass appeared out of nowhere, hovering in the air under her hand. "Let's move things along a tad bit, shall we? Give me your hand." And with that, Anna turned the wine glass ever so slightly clockwise.

The effect was immediately noticeable. The rainclouds, which were always constantly moving at a snail's pace, suddenly rushed past overhead, and the very daylight was altered. The morning flew past, then the afternoon. When Anna stopped turning her wine glass, it was evening.

Anna released her wine glass, and it vanished. "My Chronograils act kinda wonky if I overexert 'em, but they're super awesome for little jumps. I use 'em for fine-tuning."

I didn't even ask. Weird time shit just made my head hurt.

There was a commotion coming from the eastern side of the compound. I turned to see what was going on just in time to witness the entrance gates of the compound opening. There was a…well, it would be a stretch to call it a road. It was more like a long aisle that stretched from the parade grounds to the entrance gates where the wooden shacks and buildings parted, allowing a large group of people to walk directly from the gates to the center of camp.

And through the gates, returning to their hell of a home for the night, was a mass of several hundred consorts, both male and female. These were the youths and the middle-aged consorts—those who were still in their prime. They must have been out working in the quarry all day long; that would explain why it seemed so lifeless in here before…

And with them came a complement of several dozen Dersite guards, every one of them armed to the teeth. They marched in lockstep in two columns, on either side of the mob of laborers. When the gates were sealed, the guards jogged forward into the parade field, then headed north towards the walled-off sub-compound. The purple buildings made sense, now; that was where the Dersite guards resided.

When the guards passed them by, the mass of laborers dissolved as the consorts began to slither back towards what passed for their homes…wait, no… No, they weren't heading back home…they were all heading into the largest of the ramshackle wooden buildings, located in the southwestern reaches of the compound.

Without a word, Anna started walking towards it. Because of the compound's vast size, it took us a little while to reach the giant building, which gave me the chance to press for a few more answers. "All the clans of the Desert Fires…they can't all be here. This isn't the only one of these camps, is it?"

Anna shook her head. "There are over a hundred quarries throughout the Golden Grasses," she explained to me, already beginning to sound slightly less drunk. "This is just the largest one. And by far the most important…"

"So, then… Would you mind explaining what the fuck Dersites are doing here?"

"Can't," Anna's grin widened a little more. She took another drink from her flask…which I swear had been empty just a few minutes ago. "Those's be mad spoilerz, silly!"

Just when I was thinking she was sobering up…

The large building was circular in shape, and it was two stories tall. Anna told me that the sick and infirm were housed in the upper level, while the lower level… I saw long, haphazardly-made tables of wood. There was an additional table in the back of the room that was made of rock, and I could see giant pots of burbling…gruel, I guess it was. Shit-smelling gruel. Probably tasted like shit, too…but then, to these consorts, even shit-tasting gruel would probably seem like a gourmet meal. Not like the Dersites were giving them very much to eat… I wondered how exactly they were making this food. Then I decided to put it out of my mind.

This place was a giant mess hall. Where all the consorts would gather for their meals. That was when I first saw them, and my heart nearly leaped into my throat. Scales and Xolotl were sitting at one of the smaller tables, deep in conversation with a select group of consorts. I started towards them, but Anna, yet again, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back, shaking her head _no_.

"Who's he talking to?" I asked Anna.

"No one important," the Bitch shrugged. "Younger consorts who aren't smart enough to recognize a bad idea even when it fuckin' vomits all over their carpet. Let's jump forward a tad bit more…"

Anna led me outside, summoning one of her chronograils as we walked. She nudged it clockwise just far enough to send us past the evening and into nighttime. I watched as the consorts eating their evening meal filed out of the dining hall and returned to their homes, though it was like I was watching a timelapse video. Everyone was a blur.

Anna took me to the north end of the camp, where she instructed me to levitate the both of us to the top of the fortifications. I set us down just to the side of the entrance gate to the Dersite sub-compound. There was a trio of Dersite guards standing watch atop the gate, but they didn't hear us. We were pretty much alone up here.

"This should give us the best view…" Anna murmured.

"The uprising? Is it about to happen?"

"Jus' watch."

Silence had settled over the labor camp. There weren't even any crickets chirping. Hell, I dunno if my planet even _has_ any crickets-

My thoughts were interrupted by the explosion. I saw a burst of flame suddenly brew forth somewhere along the eastern portion of the fence. It was the gate—the gate had been blown open. There was the sound of energyfire from below as the guards on patrol opened fire on something or someone…but it was swiftly silenced.

Alarms sounded, and the trio of Dersite guards abandoned their post. I could hear heavy footfalls and hollered orders as the Dersites within the walls mobilized to deal with the threat. Before long, I spotted Xolotl and Glimmering Scales, striding into the parade ground at the head of a force of perhaps two dozen consorts, all of them armed with stolen energy rifles. I could hear Xolotl bellowing at the top of his lungs, urging his fellow consorts to rise up and storm the Dersite compound with him. A few consorts answered the call, trickling out of the slums in twos or threes…but there were barely ten new arrivals. Of hundreds of consorts who 'lived' here…less than ten answered the call. Xolotl continued to try and rouse the consorts…but it was useless. He was alone.

I could see another small number of consorts, instead of joining Xolotl and company on the parade ground, making a run for it through the blown-open gates. Those who tried to flee vastly outnumbered those who chose to join the fight. Any guard who attempted to assail the gathered rebels was quickly put down.

Eventually, Xolotl ordered the attack to begin, despite his hopeless situation. All of the gathered insurgents charged towards the Dersite compound. As they grew near, dozens of Dersite guards scaled the stairs onto the walls, taking up defensive positions. They had clearly trained for a situation like this.

A tall Dersite, taller than his subordinates, dressed in a gray uniform, took up a position directly over the gate, right in the thick of it all. He was clearly in charge, judging by the way everyone seemed to defer to him. He raised his hand in a silent command, and all of the defenders primed their energy rifles and took aim.

"C'mon," Anna took my hand once again, summoning one of her chronograils a third time. "We don't need to watch this next bit. I think you already get the idea of how it's gonna go down… Let's skip to the end."

I didn't resist when Anna took my hand and turned time forward once more. I blinked once, and suddenly the wall was empty. There were fifteen or twenty fallen Dersite guards still lying where the consort insurgents had killed them, but…everyone else was gone.

Anna pointed my attention towards the southwest. It only took once glance to make me see that the uprising had failed. Xolotl and Scales must've rallied the survivors and fallen back to the dining hall. Well, that was all well and good…except Anna had dumped us here just in time to witness the Dersite guards storming the place. And while that was happening, I heard the unmistakable sounds of an engine humming by overhead.

A Dersite gunship had arrived… I expected it to light up the dining hall, but it soared right on past, banking off to the east. When it cleared the labor camp, however, its nose cannons opened fire, shooting at something farther away, outside the camp. That's when I remembered the groups of consorts who'd fled through the blown gates.

My nausea returned.

Anna, thankfully, turned her chronograil again before I had to see anymore, sending us forward. The night flew on past until the skies started to brighten again, signaling the return of morning. Anna stopped the jump just shy of the LORAR equivalent of sunrise. Skaiarise, I guess it could be called? I sent us floating gently back down to ground level, on the outside of the walled Dersite compound.

Like the open route that connected the parade ground to the gate at the eastern end of camp, there was also a smaller walkway that connected the Dersite compound to the center of camp. Anna led me down this route and we returned to the central parade ground just as the daylight began to return.

All of the consorts who were imprisoned in this camp had been assembled in the parade ground, the 'healthy' workers separated from the young and elderly. Surrounding the entire perimeter of the parade ground was the force of Dersite guards, every one of them armed with automatic energy rifles, waiting for the first sign of a riot. Some of them seemed eager for a riot to begin, while others seemed slightly anxious. Most of them, however, were completely unreadable.

"The Overseer's about to talk," Anna said.

The tall Dersite in the gray uniform strode forward from the northern end of the parade ground. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "Today is a very special day!" he proclaimed. "You all have been gathered here as witnesses! Some of you have forgotten your place as vermin. Some of you, just this last night, fancied themselves heroes! Well, perhaps they are. They certainly possess more bravery and courage than the lot of you combined. Perhaps they are heroes! And today, we shall make them memories."

The Dersite leader gave a subtle nod to one of his subordinates. The lower-ranking Dersite who'd been given the order barked out an order of his own, and the line of Dersite guards standing behind the Overseer parted. An additional force of guards jogged through the opening, hauling over a dozen bloodied, beaten, torn-up consorts into the parade ground along with them.

They must be the sad remains of Xolotl's failed uprising. They were lined up in front of the Overseer, facing the silent masses of laborers. I could see the defiance in their eyes and stances. I wondered if they'd fully accepted what was coming to them. I noted that Xolotl was not among them. And on the far right of the line, my heart nearly skipped a beat when I saw Glimmering Scales. He'd been bloodied up pretty badly, and I could see a hole in his right-hand neck hood where he'd obviously been shot by an energy slug. I started forward, but Anna stepped in front of me. "Trust me," she said. "I'll be right back. Meet me at our place on the wall in…tensies."

And with that, Anna left me alone, making her way across the parade ground towards the line of condemned insurgents. As she moved up, the Overseer stepped down from his platform and drew an energy pistol from the holster he wore on his hip, cowboy-style. He strode down to the far left of the line of condemned, aimed his pistol at the first consort, and shot the poor guy in the back of the head. I winced as the lime-scaled cobra flopped forward, half his face blown away, blood spraying through the air.

The Overseer stepped over to the second consort, a darker green-scaled female, and executed her next. As he made his way down the line, I had to really fight to keep my nausea from surging up my throat. I had to fight even harder to stop myself from sprinting forward and strangling that fucking Dersite with his own guts.

I've watched my fair share of Star Wars and Star Trek. I've seen a lot of battle scenes involving blaster pistols and phaser weapons…enough to think that energy weapons had evolved from the brutality of modern-day weapons that used metal projectiles. The deaths and wounds in those movies…they were all so clean and bloodless, for the most part… The Carapacian energy weapons were nothing like that. They were every bit as bad, every bit as gory… The Overseer might as well have been blowing out those poor consorts' brains with a Desert Eagle.

I found myself hating Anna even more than I ever have before. Why was she showing me this? How could she expect me to watch my own consorts get fucked up their collective asses like this and not intervene?

But I didn't intervene, I'm ashamed to say. Anna warned me about doomed timelines, and I found myself even more fearful of causing one now that Anna had left me on my own for a short while. All I could do was watch.

One by one, the Overseer made his way down the line and executed the surviving insurgents. None of the condemned gave shouts of defiance. No cries of rage or sorrow, no final words, no 'I regret I have but one life to give'…nothing. They died silently.

The hundreds of consorts gathered in the southern end of the parade grounds watched the executions silently, as well. No one cried or grumbled. There was no dissent or anger. They all stood still as statues, watching almost impassively as their brethren were killed. When I thought about it, they probably saw shit like this on a regular basis. Even if they weren't completely desensitized to it…if they showed any kind of dissent, perhaps the Overseer might have decided to execute a few more laborers.

Man, the quarries really fucked these people up… As I watched the executions, a lot of the hatred I felt towards Anna quickly shifted to the person whom it should rightfully be focused on—Hyperion. It was my Denizen who was responsible for all this. And I swore to myself I'd make him pay.

Anna reached Glimmering Scales at the same time as the Overseer. When the Dersite camp commandant aimed his pistol, Anna grabbed Scales and vanished into a flash of red light right as the Overseer's pistol fired. When the light cleared, both Anna and Scales were nowhere to be seen. The Overseer gawked at his pistol for a few moments before shrugging and holstering it once more. He turned back to the crowd of laborers and spoke one last time.

"If anyone else ever gets the notion of becoming a hero, if anyone else fancies themselves a Knight… Know that my men and I will be more than happy to grant you a hero's death. Now get to work." With that, the Overseer gave a nod to his second-in-command, and the contingent of Dersite guards who escorted the laborers to the quarry formed up and surrounded the consorts.

While the guards rounded up the laborers and started marching them towards the gates, the elderly and young consorts in the other group dispersed, returning to the slums.

The thirteen insurgents were left bleeding in the sand while the remainder of the guards returned to their posts—in the guard towers, on the walls of the Dersite compound, and in other various points throughout the camp. When the parade ground was empty, I walked over to the thirteen corpses, and I stared down at them for…I don't really know how long.

I'm a Knight. My consorts are supposed to help and assist me…but I'm still a Knight. I should be able to protect my own fucking consorts.

"_I'm sorry,_" I whispered to the dead cobra-consorts. Overcome suddenly with a profound feeling of discomfort, I turned away from the corpses and ran. I ran as fast as I could, putting as much distance between me and the parade ground as possible. Within a few minutes, I found myself in front of the gates of the Dersite compound. I took in a deep breath and focused on my Aspect, imagined myself rising up into the air.

As I imagined it, I actually started levitating up towards the top of the fortifications. I landed off to the side of the gate, at the exact spot where Anna and I had watched the failed uprising.

"You're late," Anna was leaning against the parapet, tapping her foot impatiently. "You take the scenic route here?"

For once, I had no biting comeback. I was tired, and I wanted to go home. But it wasn't time for that, yet. So I held out my hand, instead. "Are we done with this Event?"

"Yepperz," Anna nodded, taking my hand. "Sorry you had to see that shit."

"Does it get any better?"

"Yeah."

"You're lying, aren't you."

"Yeah."

And with that, there was another flash of red light, and we vanished yet again.


	25. i Chapter 25: Life Within Death

Chapter Twenty-Five: Life Within Death

We were standing in a hallway. The floor was made of a cold, black stone, but the walls were made of a purple material. We must have been in one of those mansion-like dwellings, situated within the walled-off compound.

I asked Anna that one quintessential question that always came with any form of time-travel: "When are we?"

"Second Event," Anna replied, running a finger across the wall, seeing what the purple stone felt like. "Eight years have passed, I'm pretty sure… C'mon, we're just outside the dungeons."

"We're visiting dungeons?"

"No," the Bitch shook her head. "Don' need to."

Right when she finished speaking, almost as if it were on cue, the doors at the end of the hallway opened up, and the Overseer emerged, his gray uniform pristine as ever. Behind him were two of his guards. They were dragging a disheveled, painfully thin consort with grimy, light gray scales.

It wasn't until they passed me by that I realized the light gray was not the scales' true color—only eight years of accumulated muck and filth. The scales had been white, once upon a time. Had Xolotl really been rotting in a dungeon for all this time?

"Why didn't they kill him?" I whispered to Anna when the entourage was out of earshot. We started following them upstairs. "I mean, wasn't he kinda the ringleader of the whole thing?"

"Yeah, he was," Anna answered evenly. "The Overseer's kind of a dick, if you haven't noticed. He doesn't want Xolotl dead—no fun in that! He just wants our friend to be broken. White Scales is the first dude to resist the Dersites in a very, very long time."

"It'll probably take a lot to break Xolotl…" I murmured.

"The guy's been stuck in a dungeon for eight years," Anna pointed out. "He led a buncha friendz to their deaths, his plans completely blew up in his face, and the Dersites wouldn't even let him die afterwards. You'd be surprised…"

We followed the Overseer and company upstairs, through the front hallway, and outside. They hauled Xolotl up to the gates of the Dersite compound. "How does it feel to breathe the free air once again?" the Overseer asked Xolotl as they left the compound. Xolotl gave no reply. He bowed his head, not meeting the Overseer's gaze. The Dersite leader then gave his guards a nod, prompting them to release Xolotl, sending him flat on his face into the mud. "If you fear your thoughts will drive you mad, then I am happy to inform you that this will not happen. You will be too tired from working Hyperion's quarries to worry about your past failures."

And with that, the Overseer and his guards turned on their heels and returned to the Dersite compound, the gates booming shut behind them. Xolotl was left alone. He sat slumped against the walls, barely moving. The only parts of him that continued to move were his eyelids, his flitting tongue, and his chest.

I blinked several times, waiting for Xolotl to make a move, but nothing happened. Anna must have been feeling a similar kind of impatience, because the next thing she did was to summon one of her chronograils once again. "Jump time!" she grinned, starting to hum the opening chords of _Jump,_ by Van Halen, turning the Time-infused wine glass forward. "_I get up_… _And nuthin' gets me down_…"

We emerged from the time jump sometime in the late afternoon. Xolotl was still sitting there, and Anna was still quietly singing to herself. I fixed her with one of my glares. "You really think now's the time for that?"

"Oh lighten up," Anna rolled her eyes. "This place isn't ezzactly enjoyable for me, either. Would you feel better if I looked sad an' cried the whole time? Gimme a break! Gotta jus' sing every once in a while."

"Why don't we at least help Xolotl up?" I suggested. "Won't become any kind of White Warrior if he dies of exposure here."

"No need," Anna shook her head. "He's about to get some help of his own."

As she spoke, I turned back to glance at Xolotl just in time to see an aqua-scaled female slither up to the white-scaled consort. We weren't close enough to hear what she was saying, but obviously it was working… She gave Xolotl some water and a few crumbs of something that I hoped was bread. After a whole lot of firm coaxing, the aqua-scaled consort was able to convince Xolotl to get up from where he was slumped against the walls.

Well, this had certainly come from out of the blue…

"Her name is Ahuilitzli," Anna murmured. "She has lived here her entire life, like everyone else. She's gonna be important to us."

"How do you know all this?"

"I've seen it already," Anna replied. She then pulled the hood of her god tier clothes over her head. Her hood was different from Theo's—the back hung low a little bit, and the front of the hood actually came down over her eyes. She then held up her hands like claws and, in a spooky voice, said, "I'm a Seer. I _seeee_ things, _woOoOoo!_"

"Are the ghost sounds really necessary?"

"Oh come _on,_ Sir Debbie-Downer McRaincloud von Bubbleburster, why you always gotta be a sourpuss?" Anna pouted, pushing off her hood. "That was always your problem; you should try smiling more often."

_Beats being a slut_. I had to bite down on the insides of my cheeks again to avoid speaking that particular thought, despite how tempting it had been. I settled for something slightly less acidic. "Pardon me for not smiling while we're in the middle of a fucking prison camp. Would you like me to take you to Arlington Cemetery and start telling knock-knock jokes? Would that satisfy you?"

"No, it wouldn't, Sir Sourpuss. Knock-knock jokes are retarded. C'mon, Miss Aquamarine is taking White Scales back to her place."

And with that, we set off after the two cobra-consorts. Xolotl had clearly been malnourished—more so than the average level of malnourishment in this camp, at any rate—by his time spent in the dungeons. The lack of physical activity must have also caused his muscles to atrophy. He'd have a long, tough road to recovery ahead of him.

Ahuilitzli led Xolotl deep into the slums in the western reaches of the camp, into one of the more stable wooden shacks. This dwelling actually had an upper level, which set it apart from many of its neighbors. Anna and I slipped inside before the aqua-scaled consort closed the makeshift door behind her. The inside of the shack was surprisingly cozy. I mean, relative to all the other shacks I've seen—it really wasn't all that cozy, but it was much better than I was expecting it to be.

"Who'ss that? Who have you brought here?" A stooped, light gray-scaled consort slithered gingerly down the ramp that led to the upper level, his tongue tasting the air several times. He stopped short when he recognized Xolotl. He drew in a sharp hiss. "Why have you brought an esscapee into our home? Have you any idea what the Dark Ones would do if they find him here?"

"He iss no runaway, father," Ahuilitzli corrected the elder. "The Dark Ones releassed him from the dungeonss thiss morning."

The old consort gave what sounded like the cobra equivalent of a snort. "Doess he have a voice of hiss own? For ssomeone who led thirteen young ssoulss to their deathss, your new friend iss awfully ssilent." When Xolotl looked up at the elder sharply, the gray-scaled cobra-consort gave a gravelly chuckle. "Oh yess, that'ss right, I remember you. The troublemaker. Filling the earss of children with your drivel and nonssensse, and ssending them to their deathss-"

"I have paid for my misstakess," Xolotl murmured quietly. "Leave me in peace, old man."

Ahuilitzli's father responded to that with more laughter. "You have paid, you ssaid? Oh, by the Knight'ss fangss, troublemaker…you will now face the resst of your life as a nameless, faceless laborer, working your life away in the quarriess. You will never _sstop_ paying. And if you are lucky, perhapss you will not live sso long as I have."

And with that, the old consort turned away and slithered back upstairs.

I turned to Anna, whispering, "_Knight's fangs? Really?_"

"_They tell their history through oral-_" Anna paused for another giggle, "-_through oral tradition. Details get lost after a few thousand years. They think the Knight will be one of their own people._"

"Nice man, your father," Xolotl grunted, making his way over to the table as the aqua-scaled female placed down a bowl of some kind of soup.

"Everyone ssuccumbss to thiss place eventually," Ahuilitzli sighed. "You have not lived here ssince birth."

"Am I to expect ssimilar treatment from everyone elsse here?"

That made the aqua-scaled consort hesitate for a moment. "No," she finally answered. "Many of our youth were actually quite insspired by what you did, it iss jusst… A lifetime of conditioning iss very hard to overcome. I know many people who knew, even when you firsst began gathering followerss, that your planss would end in failure. Thiss iss why they did not join you."

It was Xolotl's turn to chuckle, though his was a very mournful laugh. "Perhapss Scales wass right… Perhapss I wass too hasty… I should have lisstened to him."

"Who iss thiss 'Scales'?" the aqua-scaled female coiled herself up on the other side of the table. I started drumming my fingers against my legs, impatiently. I didn't really want to stick around here, much longer, eavesdropping in on these conversations.

"He wass one of the Treefolk, the peopless who live in the foresstss of the wesst. He wass my friend, the one with red sscaless…" Xolotl was no longer laughing. "He fought by my sside againsst the Dark Ones. He bled by my sside…but he did not die by my sside. The Dark Ones robbed me of that honor by leaving me to rot."

Well, this was quite a juicy bit of situational irony. Much as I disliked White Scales, it felt…_wrong_… It felt wrong to see him in clear pain over the death of Scales, but not tell him that Scales was actually alive. Anna had seen to that. But one single glance at Anna was all I needed—she shook her head, knowing exactly what I was thinking. _Don't say a thing_.

I started wondering what exactly the point of this second Event was. The first one was pretty obvious—Scales and Xolotl arrived in this hell of a labor camp, attempted a failed uprising, and subsequently paid the price for it. Now Scales was out of the picture and Xolotl was out of the clink…but to what end? What was so important about this?

Anna took me by the arm and pulled me into the corner, as far away as we could get from the table. "We've seen all we need to see, here. Time to jump."

Out came the chronograils, and Anna nudged us forward in time by a much more considerable amount. I had a slight headache for a minute or so after we arrived at our destination time, but it quickly subsided. "How long?" I asked Anna.

"Over a year," the Bitch surmised. "There's no one home, right now. Our friend White Scales is at the funeral."

"Funeral? Who died?"

"Jus' come with me…" Anna led me back outside. I was actually beginning to get used to the acrid stench of this place. Not that it smelled any better…but when you don't smell anything _else_ for a while, it starts to lose its edge. The consorts who've lived here their entire lives—I mean, if you can call them _lives_—probably didn't smell anything at all.

We went to the dining hall. The large structure had been burned down when the Dersites stormed it, eight or nine years prior, as they put down the last remnants of Xolotl's failed uprising. It had since been rebuilt, slightly shabbier than it had been before. Into the dining hall we went, inside…and down a ramp behind the cooking tables that I hadn't seen before. Down into the basement.

There was a pyre down there that had just been lit. A crude platform of wood and sticks, and lying on it was the light gray-scaled elder. Ahuilitzli's father. A few dozen consorts were gathered in attendance, watching silently as the fire consumed the dead consort. Ahuilitzli herself was the one who had set fire to the funeral pyre, lowering a burning torch into the wood at the bottom of the crude platform. The smoke from the pyre was ventilated up through a chimney that could be opened and closed at will. Right now, obviously, it was open.

Ahuilitzli slithered back away from the pyre as the heat began to increase, standing next to Xolotl. The two consorts stood closely against each other, and when I gave them a closer look…I saw their tails slowly twirling around each other, almost like a twizzler. That prompted a pair of raised eyebrows. "Are they…?"

"Yeah," Anna nodded. "You got the idea. Now I know this's gonna be mad annoying, buuuut we're gonna have to head back to their house for the next jump."

"Seriously? We just freakin' _came_ from there."

"_Shh!_" Anna pressed a finger to her lips. I realized that I'd spoken a bit more loudly than I'd anticipated, and a few of the nearest consorts had actually glanced over in my direction. Gwen's rings prevented them from seeing me, though, so they just chalked it up to their imaginations.

Anna and I left the dining hall, heading up the ramp to the ground level and back outside into the camp. The Dersite guards were out on patrol, and we were forced to take a few unusual shortcuts to avoid them. Yeah, this was kind of annoying—this was a big camp, and it took us over fifteen minutes to make our way back to Ahuilitzli's home. But we made it without any problems, which I guess I could be thankful for.

It was nearly nightfall by the time we made it back. Before we went inside, though, Anna took my hand and whipped out the good old chronograils, sending us forward in time. When we emerged from the jump, it almost looked as if nothing had changed. We'd come out at the exact same time of day…just a bit further in the future.

Anna didn't even wait for me to ask, this time. "Six months. Or maybe five…or seven… Jus' pick one of those numbers."

There was a cracking noise coming from inside the house, followed by… It almost sounded like a mix between crying and very high-pitched hissing… It was kind of impossible to describe. I shared a glance with Anna before ducking inside. There was no one on the lower level, so the two of us quietly moved up to the second level…just in time to see Xolotl and Ahuilitzli gently lifting a small, pale blue cobra from the remains of an egg.

I think… I think White Scales was a daddy, now.

This was probably the happiest I've ever seen the white-scaled consort. Sure, I hadn't known him all that long, but he'd never struck me as the…well, _happy_ type. As in, every single time I'd seen him, he was acting like a supreme douchenozzle. Trying to have me sacrificed, for example… But here he was, smiling and laughing with his…I guess Ahuilitzli would be his wife? Smiling and laughing with his wife, playing with his newborn child. Ironic, wasn't it, that the happiest moment of his life was happening not when he was the most prestigious warrior of his people…but when he was a slave in a labor camp.

"Well, tha's it for this Event," Anna declared, gesturing for me to take her hand, again. "On to number three."

I was still staring at Xolotl's moment, almost hesitant to leave. "This wasn't exactly worse, you know," I pointed out to Anna. "You said it was gonna get-"

"Don' say anymore," Anna cut me off with an uncharacteristic glare. "This ain't the last Event we're gonna be visiting. This one ended on a happy note, yeah…but the next ones won't. Don' say anythin' you'll regret later on."

Almost reluctantly, I took Anna's hand, squeezing my eyes shut against the headache that I knew would come. There was a flash of red light, and then we were gone.


	26. i Chapter 26: Hard Choices

Chapter Twenty-Six: Hard Choices

The red light faded away. I grunted in pain, clutching at my head, trying to ignore the sharp ache that started pounding away at my temples and eyes. "Jesus, how can you stand this?" I muttered, blinking several tears away. "Feels like my fuckin' head's about to explode every time we do this…"

"I was born for this; you weren't," Anna shrugged. "Built up a tolerance, I guess."

Ahuilitzli was coiled up at the table, staring anxiously at the door. She was looking right at us, because that's where we were standing, even if she could not see us. Still, it made me feel kinda skeevy, so I shuffled off to the side.

"We waiting for something here?" I asked Anna quietly.

She didn't even have time to shake her head before the door opened, and a small, pale-blue consort flew inside. It was a little boy. I mean, the cobra version of a little boy…uh… I don't think there's even a word for that. And if there is, I sure as hell don't know it.

Ahuilitzli broke out into a grin, quietly releasing a sigh of relief. She lifted the cobra-consort child into the air with her Vis, twirling him around and around. The kid let out a peal of high-pitched laughter as his mother set him back down.

I couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable. I mean, this was very heartwarming, and all, but… God damn, they were _snakes!_ It was weird!

Xolotl entered the home behind his son, closing the door behind him.

"-and there wass a lot of rockss, and the Dark Ones shouted a lot," the little guy was describing his day to his mother. "Then one guy, he, he couldn't hold his toolss anymore, and the Dark Ones, they let him go on vacation!"

"That'ss…that'ss nice," I could tell Ahuilitzli was at a loss for words to say, but she did her best to cover up her hesitation, flitting her gaze over to Xolotl. The white-scaled cobra had slithered over to a small cabinet by the door, opening it and pulling out a wooden bottle. When he took a long drink from the bottle, I recognized the stench of alcohol. "Run along upsstairss, little one," Ahuilitzli nuzzled her son towards the ramp. "I will tell you a Sstory before you ssleep."

The small, pale-blue cobra kid, after some firm coaxing from his mother, slithered up the ramp to the second level, leaving his parents alone on the ground floor. Well, not exactly _alone_ alone…but I guess Anna and I don't really count as being here. We're just observers.

Xolotl hadn't moved from the alcohol cabinet. He took a second long drink from the wooden bottle, and then a third. The stuff smelled pretty strong—due to the absence of any high-end liquor stores in the labor camp, it had to be some form of moonshine. And I knew firsthand, from my experience at the celebration that took place after I climbed the Knight's Ladder for the Western Fires, that my consorts could get drunk.

When he saw that his son had gone upstairs, Xolotl slithered slowly over to the table, coiling himself up and resting his head on the table's surface. He gave a long sigh, breathing out loudly through his nostrils. "I do not know how much longer I can do thiss," he hissed quietly. "It'ss only his third day in the quarriess… I cannot protect his innocence forever…"

"What did he mean by vacation?" the aqua-scaled female asked.

Xolotl gave a bitter grunt, taking another drink from the wooden bottle. "It wass Nuatl…" the white-scaled consort murmured. "He wass feeling ssick for over a week, and today he collapssed in the middle of the quarry… The Dark Ones blew his brainss out and took away his body… Probably buried or burned it ssomewhere, wouldn't want to sstink the preciouss quarriess up with our dead…" Xolotl took a fifth drink. He started to take a sixth one, stared at the wooden bottle for a while. He then replaced the stopper and put the bottle down. "Couldn't let Citlali watch, I couldn't let our sson watch…covered his eyess and earss, told him they jusst took Nuatl on a vacation…"

The aqua-scaled female closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Nuatl wass a dear friend…we will all mourn his passing."

Xolotl gave a low grunt. "All the death in those quarriess… No one will remember Nuatl by the week'ss end, for he will have been followed by a dozen otherss… Our sson iss no ssimpleton, dear one; he will ssee the truth of thingss very ssoon."

Ahuilitzli took the bottle with her Vis, stowed it back in the cupboard. "Citlali iss but a child. We musst shield him for as long as we can."

"_You think I do not know that?_" Xolotl snapped, his head rearing back up. The white-scaled consort then let out another sigh, and turned away. "I try my besst, but how many more of our kinssmen will go on these myssteriouss vacationss before he beginss to catch on? Before he sseess that no one who goess on these vacationss ever returnss? Your father wass right; I will never sstop paying for my misstakess… But Citlali? What misstakess is _he_ paying for? What misstakess is a four-year-old child paying for?"

"What misstakess are our _people_ paying for?" Ahuilitzli countered. "Thiss cannot go on, Xolotl. Ssomething musst be done."

Xolotl tensed up, seeing where the conversation was headed. "No," he declared. "No, I will not sstart another uprising. I will not ssend anyone elsse to their deathss."

"C'mon, let's get outta here," Anna pulled me away from the two consorts as their argument began to pick up steam. "We're gettin' close to the Push."

We made our way back outside. It was nighttime. The rain was coming down in a very light shower, and the glow of the violet rainclouds was barely bright enough to illuminate the labor camp. I've seen nights where the purple glow of the clouds was brighter than the light of a full moon, but here it was always very dim. Almost as if the planet itself were in anguish over what was happening to its natives.

"What's the Push, again?" I asked Anna. I know she'd mentioned it at the beginning of this mind-numbing temporal rollercoaster, but she hadn't really gone into detail.

"It's the most critical moment in all the Events leading up to the libertation—_liberation_ of all the desert peeps," Anna answered. "We've jus' been observin' bitchez so far, but there's one point in the timeline when you're gonna have to interfere."

"_Good,_" I muttered. "I'm tired of having to sit back and watch all this shit happen…"

Anna chose to not say anything, interestingly, which wasn't exactly her style. It actually made me hesitate for a few moments, but I decided to dismiss it. It was evening, once again, now that we were outside. Almost all of our time jumps left us in the night hours—during the day, Xolotl and everyone else would be working in the quarries. When we emerged from the time jump, I opened my eyes to see Xolotl and Citlali, his son, walking up the alleyway between shacks towards their home. On their way back from the dining hall, probably.

Citlali had grown. Not by much, but still enough for me to easily notice… I'd guess two or three more years had passed. He seemed more like an older kid, now, rather than a toddler.

"May I assk you ssomething?" the pale blue-scaled consort spoke up.

Xolotl glanced at his son. "You jusst did."

The young consort opened his mouth, then closed it, at a loss for words. Man, I _hated_ it when people pulled that on me—I could relate to the little guy. Xolotl then broke out into a smile. "What did you wish to assk, little one?"

"What'ss it like out there?" Citlali asked. "Mother tellss me you weren't born here, so what'ss it like where you came from? Iss it better than thiss place?"

Now Xolotl was at a loss for words. He stared at his son for a few moments. "Your mother told you thiss?"

"Well…not directly, no," Citlali admitted. "I hear thingss. People talk about you a lot, you know."

"I came from far away," Xolotl finally answered. He glanced around for a moment, seeing if there were any guards nearby. When he was satisfied that there weren't any Dersites around to overhear him, he sat his son down outside the door to their home. "I will tell you the Story of our originss. Long ago, in the Age of Legendss, we were all part of the three Great Firess—the Peopless of the Ssandss, the Foresstss, and the Plainss. Our ancesstorss were the People of the Ssandss, and they lived in Teotlallizinco, the Desert-That-Is-Home…"

Xolotl went on to describe a lot about the Old Peoples of the Sands, the consorts who'd lived in the desert in the time before the Cataclysm, ten thousand years ago. Citlali listened wide-eyed as his father spoke of how the seven clans of the People of the Sands lived separately from one another, locked in a state of constant strife and conflict. That is, until their differences were resolved by the Old One, and they united briefly to raise Aztlán, the City-In-The-Center. Unfortunately, that place would forever be known to me as the place where I was almost sacrificed…which was a shame, because it was actually a pretty cool city, from what I'd been able to see.

"Have you sseen it?" Xolotl's son asked next. "Have you sseen the desert?"

"I have," Xolotl nodded. "I wass born there. It iss a beautiful place."

"I'll never ssee it, will I," Citlali's next question was less of a question and more of a statement, and it caught Xolotl off guard.

"What?"

"The desert," the pale blue-scaled consort repeated himself. "I won't ever ssee it, will I? None of uss will."

"_Never_ iss a very long time, little one," Xolotl pointed out. Citlali's neck hoods flared momentarily in the cobra equivalent of a shrug, and the young consort started to brush past his father. Xolotl let out a hissing chuckle and stopped his son, coiling himself around the smaller cobra and wrestling him to the ground. "Pinned," he declared.

"Get off, _get off!_" the pale blue cobra growled, trying in vain to free himself from his father's grip. He quickly gave up, lying slack within the coils of Xolotl's body, finally giving into and joining the white-scaled consort's surprisingly infectious laughter. "Okay, fine… You win."

Xolotl started to let his son back up, but then he hesitated, deciding to speak to the little guy one last time. "Ssomeday, the White Warrior will come to uss. He will sset uss free…and when that happenss, I will bring you to the desert. I'll show you Aztlán, the City-In-The-Center, my home and birthplace. Ssomeday, I will bring you home."

"You promisse?"

"I promisse," Xolotl answered without a moment's hesitation. He then uncoiled himself and helped his son back to his feet. "Now, insside with you."

"Father…" Citlali stopped one last time, looking back at the white-scaled consort. "Couldn't _you_ be the White Warrior? I mean, you're the only one with-"

"_No,_" Xolotl snapped, causing his son to jump. The white-scaled consort closed his eyes, took a deep breath before opening them again. "I am ssorry… No, little one, I am not. I thought I wass, once upon a time…and fourteen people died because of that fantassy. But that iss a sstory for another time… Go on, now. Your mother iss waiting for you…"

I realized that I'd stopped paying attention to anything else. I hadn't even been thinking about anything as I watched Xolotl and his son. I glanced over to Anna. She stood next to me, patiently waiting for me to say something. I looked back at Xolotl, but the white-scaled consort was already heading back inside. I started to follow, but Anna tugged at my sleeve, stopping me.

"Time to jump," she said. "I'm not using the chronograils for this one—I'm just gonna do it the old-fashioned way. We're goin' to the quarries, this time. That's where, and _when,_ the Push will have to happen."

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell the Push is?"

"Yeah," Anna nodded finally. "Yeah, better you knew what was comin' before shit starts goin' down… Let's walk," she turned abruptly and started making her way back down the alleyway towards the central parade ground. I had no choice but to follow.

"Shit's gonna go down in the quarries, tomorrow," Anna started to explain. "At some point, our friend Mister White Scales is gonna get a beatdown from one of our resident Dersites. And when that happens, you'll have to kill him."

I blinked. "Xolotl?"

"No, you dolt—the _Dersite,_" Anna rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Yeah, kill the dude who's s'posed to liberate all these bitchez; _great_ idea!"

"Well maybe if you weren't so drunk all the time, I'd be able to understand the shit you say."

"Beats getting whiskey dick every time I drink," the Bitch shot back, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Okay, now _that_ was just uncalled for. I could feel my face reddening. "Oh, that why you decided to fuck Gino all year long? I wasn't a good enough drunk for you?"

"I fucked the crap outta Gino 'cuz he's _hot,_" Anna sighed, not looking down as she stepped over the half-rotted carcass of a dead consort. The poor guy'd been shot through the head—summarily executed by one of the guards, no doubt, for whatever reason. "That's your other problem; you can't stop holdin' grudges! Jesus, dude, jus' let it go! An' yeah, you were a pretty bad drunk."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for about a full minute. For a few moments, my hands balled into fists, and I was actually afraid I was going to cave Anna's face in. And as much as I would've enjoyed it, I forced myself to hold back… _Man,_ that took a hell of a lot of willpower.

I decided to bring the topic of conversation back to what it had been originally, ignoring what Anna had just said. For now, at least… "Fine, whatever. So all I have to do is kill a Dersite, and we're good?"

"More or less," the Bitch shrugged. "You should know…killing that Dersite is necessary for the preservation of the alpha timeline. If you do it, though…a couple innocent people will die as a result. You'll have blood on your hands. But see, that's the thing about winnin' this fuckin' game…it ain't a matter of good and bad, right an' wrong—it's jus' a buncha hard fuckin' choices that we all have to make… You're gonna have to make a hard choice. Can you face that?"

I said nothing for a short while, but finally gave a nod as we started coming up to the gates. I didn't really understand very much about Time shit…but I knew that if Anna's Push didn't happen, it would fuck a lot of shit up. Maybe I just had some uber-strong, repressed instinct for self-preservation, because—despite my feelings towards Anna—I knew deep down that I had to do what she said. Because right now, she was functioning as a caretaker of sorts…and if you disobeyed a caretaker, bad things happened. And I didn't want any more bad things to happen, not because of me…

I decided to rest assured in the belief that, whoever died as a result of my actions…well, they wouldn't have had to have died in the first place if the Dersites hadn't decided to start brutalizing my consorts like this. It wouldn't have happened if Hyperion hadn't decided to show up and make this planet his fucking-shit-up ground. I wasn't so naïve as to think that an uprising would be bloodless…

"Will killing that Dersite start the uprising?" I asked Anna.

She gave a nod. "Yeah, in a way."

That prompted a frown from me. "In a way? What do you mean, in a way? 'In a way' is just the douchey way of saying 'yeah, but I'm not going to tell you what the hidden catch is'. Because there's always a hidden catch."

Anna refused to budge. "If you kill that Dersite, the uprising will happen. If you don't…then there will be no uprising," she laid it out for me plain and simple, though I still got the feeling that she was holding something back. "We'll end up in a doomed timeline an' die very soon, buuut these peeps…they'll be slaves forever. The only question is if you can sacrifice a couple innocent lives to prevent that."

And before I could even give her an answer, Anna grabbed my arm. There was a bright flash of red light, momentarily blinding me…but when my vision returned, I realized that we were no longer in the labor camp. We were outside of it.

Dust. There was dust everywhere. Dust, and rocks, and powder, and giant formations of dark gray rock. For miles, it was like this…a big, terrible scar in the earth, ravaged out of the side of one of the giant ridges of the Golden Grasses. I've described it from a distance—the grassy topsoil, the trees; everything that bore life…stripped away, revealing the rock underneath. And that rock had been mined, carved, stripped away by the consorts for centuries, under the oppression of Hyperion and the Dersites… But up close…

It turned out that I'd only seen the very top of the quarries, when I'd spied them from the ridge with Anna on the opposite side of the valley. The thing about quarries is that they start out as shallow pits…but as time goes on, they get deeper and deeper… And these quarries had gotten pretty damn deep. The pit we were in was several miles across, and several hundred feet deep.

The stronger consorts were the ones who were actually extracting the chunks of rock from the faces of the pit, while others would break them into more manageable sizes. The youngest ones, the children…they would move all the rock fragments into carts for transport. There was a narrow road, the pathway down to the bottom of this particular quarry, that wound up around the western face of the pit, switchbacking its way up to the top. The carts would have to be moved up that road—it looked perilous enough, but I was sure that any mistakes would result in quick, punitive punishment.

An energy slug to the back of the head. To provide this courtesy were the Dersite guards, who were stationed at various points throughout the quarry, constantly patrolling to ensure maximum efficiency was being achieved.

The dust itself was oppressive, making each breath an effort to avoid coughing my lungs out. I could only imagine how the consorts breathed in all this crap for days, months, years on end…maybe that was one reason why there were never very many elders in the labor camps. The dust probably killed more laborers than the Dersites ever did.

As for the consorts themselves…it was almost hard to see the color of their scales, because they were all covered with dust. Many of them moved around as if they were in a trance, as if they were ghosts…they were a dead people, even if they didn't realize it.

Xolotl was one of the consorts who were extracting the rock from the quarry walls. The Dersites had the consorts dig short corridors into the rock face at regular intervals, and would then break away the pillars of rock that separated the corridors. Then the process would repeat—it probably took weeks for an entire cycle to be completed. Hell, I don't know—I'm not exactly an expert on quarries.

I walked towards Xolotl, but Anna remained where she was. Well, let her play aloof—I was past the point of caring. I didn't get too close to Xolotl, but I wanted to be able to hear what he was saying.

"Keep sstrong, Huemac," the white-scaled consort was saying to the yellow-scaled individual who was working alongside him. "You musst not show your illss."

The yellow-scaled consort was coughing and wheezing. He was in bad shape, probably already sick with something before starting the day's work. "I… I cannot go on, Xolotl," the yellow-scaled consort murmured. His words were slightly slurred, and he sounded delirious. "The moment I sspat blood thiss morning, I knew… I knew I wass a dead man… It iss not even noon, yet…"

"Keep talking like that, and what you're ssaying will come true," Xolotl replied, using his Vis to drive his pick into the rock wall, sending a large chunk of stone crashing to the ground. "Keep sstrong, brother; no one iss dying today."

"I… I…" the yellow-scaled consort broke off and doubled over, heaving for breath. He coughed several times and ended up vomiting a disgusting mix of puke and blood out into the dusty powder that covered the ground.

"Get up, get up," Xolotl urged his friend, trying to get him back upright. He glanced up, looking at something behind me, and he swore. He let out a quiet stream of profanity and redoubled his efforts to help up his friend, who was continuing to cough up blood.

I looked over my shoulder, trying to see what had caused Xolotl to panic. My questions were answered when I saw a tall Dersite—not so tall as the Overseer, but still pretty tall for a carapacian—dressed in a gray jacket, pants, and heavy boots. He was armed only with an energy pistol, but he looked like he knew how to use it with deadly accuracy. And he was walking towards us, brushing past Anna without even knowing she was there. The Bitch winked at me, gesturing at the tall Dersite.

"The pit boss hass sspotted uss," Xolotl hissed after he finished swearing. "Get up, or he will shoot you. Get up, damn you! Get up!"

"_What is the meaning of this?_" the tall Dersite shouted as he strode through the dust towards the ailing cobra. When he reached the site where Xolotl and the yellow-scaled cobra were working, he took one look at all the blood and vomit on the ground and clacked his teeth together in annoyance. "You there, why has this piece of filth ceased doing his job?" the pit boss asked Xolotl.

Xolotl bowed his head, not meeting the Dersite's gaze. "He iss fine; jusst inhaled dusst from the lasst rock fragment."

The Dersite gave a doubtful grunt. "Know what you sound like, white filth? Go on, tell me. Tell me what you sound like."

"I…" Xolotl was at a loss for words, again. "Forgive me, I-"

"You sound like you are full of shit," the tall Dersite answered his own ridiculous question, drawing his pistol and brutally clubbing Xolotl across the face with it, sending the white-scaled consort flying to the ground. "You do not vomit that much blood from a puff of dust."

"Forgive me, ssir…" Xolotl picked himself back up and started to plead for the life of his friend.

A bad taste developed in my mouth as I watched the exchange. Contempt for the Dersite pit boss, and…something else. Sadness, maybe? Sadness for how Xolotl had been reduced to this. How he was forced to grovel and beg in front of these assholes…

Xolotl wouldn't stop begging for the life of his friend, and the pit boss's annoyance quickly exploded into an angry impatience. The pit boss aimed his pistol at the yellow-scaled consort and fired…only to give a yell of shock when his arm was suddenly forced upwards right before he pulled the trigger. The energy slug crackled off harmlessly into the sky. The consorts working around Xolotl glanced over for an instant in reaction to the gunshot before resuming their work. Gunshots must have been a very common occurrence here, sadly.

"You redirected my aim?" the pit boss seethed, before completely losing his cool and clubbing Xolotl over the head again with the butt of his pistol. "You _redirected my aim?_ You piece of filth! You insignificant, sewer-bred pile of worm dung! How _dare_ you-"

This guy just started to get angrier and angrier. After hitting Xolotl a second time, he paused to catch his breath. Then he really started wailing on Xolotl. Beating the white-scaled consort with the butt of his pistol, with his fist, kicking…

"Now or never, Sir Sourpuss," Anna had walked up next to me without my noticing. She nodded at the pit boss, who was still beating the crap out of Xolotl. "Do it."

I took a deep breath, focused on my Aspect as I stepped towards the Dersite. I raised my hand, focusing on the pit boss's head. Then I took one last breath and closed my eyes, turning my hand as I did so. I heard the sickening _crack,_ then the following thud… I opened my eyes again, looking down at the pit boss's body, his head bent at an impossible angle.

No one paid the gunshot much attention, but when the pit boss fell…the entire quarry fell silent. The consorts ceased their work, staring in shock at what had just happened. I think the Dersite guards were equally as shocked, but they quickly overcame their initial surprise and started sprinting towards Xolotl, shouting at the top of their lungs.

Anna grabbed my arm, just then, and pulled me into another flash of bright red light. I grunted in pain, clasping my forehead as the headaches returned. "Jesus, a little warning next time?" I muttered. "So, what, is that it? I pop the guy, and…and…" I blinked several times, getting my bearings, my voice trailing off as I realized where we were.

We were back on the parade grounds, standing between the gathered crowd of consorts and the Dersite guards. The consorts had all been assembled, with the Dersite guards in tight formation around the Overseer's platform, as well as the parade grounds' perimeter. The Overseer himself was no longer on his platform—he was standing in front of it, and he'd just finished speaking to his consorts. I didn't get the chance to hear what he'd been saying.

I saw that Xolotl had been brought in front of the rest of the consorts, flanked by half a dozen Dersite guards, all of them aiming their rifles at him, waiting for the first sign of disobedience to open fire. I turned back to Anna. "What the hell's going on?"

"_Watch_."

I turned my gaze back to the Overseer as he barked out an order. The line of guards behind him parted momentarily, allowing four more guards to march through, escorting a pair of consorts to the Overseer, lining them both up so that they were facing the crowd of laborers. My insides seized up when I saw who they were.

"_No…_" I whispered. "Jesus Christ, _no_…"

They had been beaten almost to the point of unconsciousness, but they were both still somehow standing…

The Overseer drew his pistol and shot Citlali first. The top of the young consort's head was blown away, sending bits of bone and brain matter spraying into the air. The pale blue-scaled youngling's body thudded to the dirt. Ahuilitzli let out a piercing cry as she watched her son die. She continued to scream until the Overseer fired his pistol a second time and silenced her forever.

I looked back at Xolotl. The white-scaled consort was standing as still as a statue, his face completely blank. No tears, no expression…nothing.

I bit down on the insides of my cheeks again as Anna led me away from, trying with every single atom of my body to restrain my anger. When we were finally out of earshot from the parade grounds…I stopped restraining myself. Within a flash, I seized Anna by her arms and slammed her up against the wall of the shack we happened to be walking past.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" I screamed at her. "His family? His fucking _family?_ You never said-"

"I told you a couple innocent people would die, an' tha's ezzactly what happened," Anna didn't try to fight back or anything, remaining perfectly calm and drunk even as I shouted right in her face. "Would you've acted diffurntly—_differently_ if you'd known who those people were? Would you have let us spiral off into a doomed timeline?"

I wanted to keep on screaming at her, wanted to yell until she burst into flames…but I had to admit that I had no real answer. And she knew that, too.

"It's like I said, dude," she sighed, her grin finally fading away. "All this game is is a set o' hard fuckin' choices that we all gotta make. You jus' made one. An' now you got a glimpse of what it's like to be a Hero of Time. Ain't all it's cracked out to be."

I relented, releasing Anna and taking a step back. I wandered forward aimlessly for a few moments before my knees buckled and I threw up again. Well, actually, I didn't really throw up…I'd already thrown up when Anna had gotten half her head blown off, earlier. All I was doing was dry-heaving.

Yeah, I know, maybe you're thinking I'm crazy for being so affected by watching a couple of snakes die…but I was beginning to think of my consorts less as cobras and more as people. I'd just watched a woman and a young boy get shot because of something I did. And even worse, Xolotl had to watch the same thing, without even knowing why it was happening in the first place. He certainly wouldn't remember killing the pit boss, back in the quarry, because he _hadn't_. But who would believe him when he protested?

When I was able to stop, I spat out the bile residue that had made it up my throat, wiped my mouth. "Why?" I muttered to Anna without looking at her. "Why me? Why'd you have to make me do that?"

"I didn't _make_ you do anything; it was your choice," Anna retorted. "But it had to be you, because sometime in the future, your sprite will have to make another hard choice. One even harder than this one."

"My sprite?" I frowned, turning back to look at Anna once more. "What the fuck does my sprite have to do with this?"

"Let's just say he's following in your footsteps, in a way," Anna replied. "It's kinda hard to explain, and I don' really feel like tryin' to! An' if it's any consolation, even if you hadn't made the choice you did, White Scales's family still woulda died. No one survives these places."

To be perfectly honest…_no,_ it didn't make me feel any better. But deep down, I was secretly glad that I wasn't a Hero of Time…if this was the kind of shit Anna dealt with on a regular basis, I was glad I didn't have her job.

"C'mon, Sir Sourpuss," Anna took me by the arm, helping me to my feet. "One Event to go. You ready?"

Wordlessly, I gave a small nod, bracing myself for the headaches. There was another flash of red light, and then we were gone.


	27. i Chapter 27: First Step

Chapter Twenty-Seven: First Step

Xolotl in his home. Xolotl in the dining hall. Xolotl in the quarries, Xolotl on the parade grounds, Xolotl marching through the gates…

The location may have changed, but the white-scaled consort never did. Anna manipulated the chronograils several times, sending us on many little time jumps throughout the first stretch of this last Event. I think about two years had passed by the time we noticed any change.

Xolotl's family had been executed, you see…for something he hadn't done. Something _I'd_ done. He had been forced to watch as the Overseer shot his wife and son in the head, and he hadn't given any kind of outward reaction. That was what unnerved me the most—for someone so fiery and animated as Xolotl, seeing him just shut down like that…everything about it was wrong.

And so, Anna took me to the final Event in her…what did I call it? Her rollercoaster of temporal fuckery. I actually don't think I've ever called it that, but the name fit quite nicely, so I think I'll keep it. Our jumps were quick and brief, but these first few didn't exactly need to be as lengthy as the earlier ones.

We visited Xolotl at various points in time over the next couple years. And whenever we saw him…it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing; he never spoke. He never laughed or cried…never showed any kind of emotion at all. It was as if he'd died with his family, leaving only an empty body behind.

It was disturbing to watch, and I really wanted to stop…but I knew that this was something I had to see through to the end.

Then Anna jumped us into the dining hall. As I said, I think it'd been around two years, from Xolotl's perspective, since the execution of his family. Everyone was getting their evening meal, filling their bowls at the cooks' tables, then gathering in their respective groupings at the various tables that filled the giant building's ground floor. Xolotl sat alone at a small table in the corner, silently brooding over his bowl of gruel. No one came to sit with him, or even came anywhere near the table, for that matter.

Two younger consorts with lighter and darker green scales slid past, tossing a clay ball to one another. One would use his Vis to swing the ball around his body, where it would be picked up by his friend's own Vis, then his friend would swing the ball back around. If done properly, the ball would sail through the air without ever touching the ground, or any other kind of solid surface. As they slithered past Xolotl's table, one of the youths lost his grip, sending the ball flying towards the white-scaled consort. He cried out in warning…only to fall silent upon realizing that the clay ball had stopped dead in the air just shy of Xolotl's head. The white-scaled cobra continued to eat, not even looking up.

"Apologiess," the lime-scaled youth started to apologize, moving forward to retrieve his ball. "Nearly took your head off-"

"You were not even remotely closse to taking my head off, not with a throw like that…" Xolotl muttered disdainfully, finishing his thought with another sip of gruel. I shared another glance with Anna. Though the youths probably didn't realize, this was the first time the white-scaled consort had made any kind of outward expression since the death of his family. Momentous, I think, would be a good word to describe it.

"Well, why don't you show uss how to throw it properly, then, ssince you obvioussly know sso much about it," the lime-scaled consort retorted.

The darker green-scaled youth cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to pull his friend back. "Do you not know who that iss, Ixtli?" the other youth, clearly the more level-headed of the pair, hissed in an urgent whisper. "Come away, before-"

"_No,_" Xolotl finally looked up from his gruel, fixing the lime-scaled cobra with his hard, paralyzing gray-eyed glare. "No, your friend hass already made a requesst. It would be rude of him to leave before I fulfilled that requesst…"

And with that, Xolotl made the clay ball orbit around his head. It started at a moderately fast, but steady pace…but then the white-scaled cobra began increasing the velocity of the clay ball, whipping it around his head faster and faster until it looked almost as if there was a blurry gray ring around his head. Then he released it, sending it screaming towards the lime-scaled cobra.

The lime-scaled cobra barely had time to dive out of the way, and even then…the clay ball still grazed one of his neck hoods. It slammed straight into the wall all the way at the opposite side of the dining hall, leaving a sizeable dent in the wood, sending a few splinters through the air.

The entire dining hall, all of the consorts within it…they all fell silent. I think it was the first time the dining hall had ever been that quiet in a very long time, probably since it had been burned down during Xolotl's failed uprising. Everyone stared at the white-scaled consort.

Xolotl, having absolutely zero fucks to give, ignored everyone's glances and simply went back to eating his gruel.

After a few seconds, everyone lost interest and turned their attention back to their meals. The usual din of the dining hall quickly returned. The two green-scaled youths, however, did not leave. The lime-scaled consort picked himself back up, regaining his balance, his neck hoods flaring in surprise. "How…how can you move it sso fasst?" the youth stammered.

"Because I am not a half-wit," the white-scaled consort replied, gulping down some more gruel.

"Oh, sso we're half-witss, now?" This time, it was the darker green-scaled cobra who took offense, abandoning his previous show of caution. "Perhapss you could teach uss, then, to be full-witss? Show uss how you move the ball sso fasst."

"Do I look like a teacher to you?" Xolotl grunted to the youths. Without waiting for an answer, he rose from his seat and pushed past the two young consorts, actually physically bumping the lime-scaled one out of the way. "I am not here for your amussement."

Anna's next time jump took us to Xolotl's home. Despite its tiny size, it somehow seemed a lot bigger than before. It was quieter and emptier. The white-scaled consort was at the table, lying his head down on the table top, an opened wooden bottle resting nearby. After a minute or so, there was a knock at the door, jolting Xolotl awake. The white-scaled consort laid his head back down, ignoring the disturbance…until someone knocked a second time.

"_What!_" Xolotl barked, not moving from the table. "What, did everyone decide to sstart dissturbing me today?" His speech was slightly slurred from the alcohol, but he still seemed to be at least moderately coherent.

The door opened to reveal a yellow-scaled consort who looked almost to be middle-aged, close to Xolotl's own age. I gave a start of surprise—I recognized that guy. It was the yellow-scaled dude who'd been throwing up blood in the quarries, the day I killed the pit boss. In the chaos that followed the pit boss's death, I guess he'd been completely forgotten. Who gave a shit about a sick consort when his friend had just murdered one of the guards?

Still, in a place like this, it was very surprising to see him still alive.

"Hello, Xolotl," the yellow-scaled consort let himself in, closing the door behind him.

"Huemac?" Xolotl raised his head, recognizing his kinsman's voice. "Sso…you're sstill alive…"

"Very much sso," the yellow-scaled consort replied, slithering over to the table and removing the alcohol bottle. "I should not be…though, one can argue that there are many thingss here that should not be. Thiss place itsself, for example. Thiss prison that we are forced to call home…should not be."

A low, irritated growl hummed from deep in Xolotl's throat. "Why are you here, Huemac?"

"Why are you interacting with other people again, all of a ssudden? Why did you nearly take off Ixtli's head, back in the hall?" Huemac retorted. "You are coming back to life, my friend. We need you."

Xolotl snorted, resting his head back down on the table. "I am curiouss… My wife could never convince me to do what you are ssuggessting. What makes you think I will do sso now?"

"Vengeance," Huemac replied, as nonchalantly as if he were reading off the top item on a grocery shopping list. "Your family wass wrongly killed."

"I killed the pit boss, and the Overseer took my wife and sson in return," Xoltol grunted, reaching for the alcohol bottle, giving another growl when he realized that Huemac had removed it. "There iss no usse in trying to-"

"I know you did not kill the pit boss," Huemac interrupted, taking a seat opposite the white-scaled consort. That was enough to shut Xolotl right the hell up. "I wass in a very bad sstate at the time, but I wass not blind. I ssaw the whole thing… The pit boss nearly beat the life out of you, but you did not once land a blow on him in return."

The white-scaled consort was listening intently, now. "I had to convince mysself that I had done the deed, for the ssake of my own ssanity…" Xolotl murmured. "I remember… I remember, now… But it hass been over two yearss. If you knew of thiss, why did you not come to me before?"

"You would not have lisstened to me, before."

"What makess you think I am lisstening to you now?"

"Why have you not kicked me out, yet?"

I watched the verbal back and forth between the two consorts, my head almost moving from side to side like I was watching a tennis match. Not that I'd ever watch a tennis match—there are many more entertaining ways for me to bore myself to death.

Xolotl opened and then promptly closed his mouth. He had no good answer to Huemac's last question, and the yellow-scaled consort already knew that. When Xolotl spoke again, it was another question, rather than an answer. "I sseem to recall assking _you_ to join _me,_ nearly twenty yearss ago. You were one of the firsst to refuse. Why the change of heart?"

"Because you were arrogant and impatient," Huemac certainly didn't sugarcoat his response. "There were many of uss who would have joined your rebellion, but it wass plainly obviouss that you would have led uss all to ruin. But now…much time hass passed. You are no longer the fool who led fourteen young ssoulss to their deathss. There are sstill many of uss who would follow you once again…provided you learned from your passt misstakess. Provided that thiss time, you do it properly."

"_Get out,_" Xolotl gave a low, threatening hiss, clearly done with this conversation. "Leave me in peace. Get out!"

Huemac blinked once, then rose from the table, headed over to the door and opened it. Before he went outside, however, the yellow-scaled consort glanced back inside. "We cannot do thiss without you, Xolotl. We are many, but our Vis iss weak. If you change your mind…you know where to find me." And with that, Huemac closed the door behind him and vanished into the night.

Xolotl was silent. After about a minute, he slowly uncoiled himself and rose from his seat at the table, making his way over to the alcohol cabinet. He retrieved the wooden bottle he'd been drinking out of, removed the stopper, held it up to his mouth with his Vis…but he didn't drink. He tried at least three or four times to down the shit in the bottle, but every single time he would falter at the last second.

Finally, the white-scaled consort let out one of the most bitter cries of frustration that I've ever heard, hurling the wooden bottle to the floor so hard that it shattered into splinters, splashing its contents all over the place.

Then he completely demolished the entire alcohol cabinet. I had actually been standing right next to the fucking thing before he went all psycho on it, so I quietly shuffled away towards the door, where Anna was watching everything go down, avoiding getting hit by any kind of debris. Once the last of the wooden alcohol bottles was destroyed, Xolotl collapsed against the wall in a puddle of spilled booze, weeping quietly to himself.

I started to fidget a little bit, my discomfort growing exponentially. "Do we really have to be here for this?" I murmured to Anna. "This is the kind of shit I feel we really shouldn't be watching…" I mean, come on! After spying on the poor guy for the past twenty or so years of his life…this just felt really unnecessary!

"Jus' give 'im a sec," Anna replied.

And sure enough, after a few more seconds of weeping, Xolotl took a deep breath and dried his eyes, picked himself up off the floor. He slithered over to the door and opened it, breathing in the not-so-fresh outside air…and hesitated. After casting one last glance behind him, however, he stalked off into the darkness, not even bothering to close the door.

Anna gestured with her head for me to follow, and we stole out of the house, hot on Xolotl's heels. The white-scaled consort was moving at a pretty fast pace, and we had to jog to keep up. We headed in a direction that was _not_ towards the parade grounds…so we were going deeper into the network of shacks and slums that made up the area where all the consorts imprisoned in this camp lived.

After making a series of twists and turns, we soon found ourselves emerging into a square of sorts. I know calling it a square is a bit of a stretch—it was really just a small space where four of the alleyways happened to converge. That was where we caught up with Huemac. Xolotl called out to Huemac just as the yellow-scaled consort was disappearing down one of the other alleys. Huemac stopped, turning back to hear what Xolotl had to say.

"If what you ssay iss true…" Xolotl murmured, faltering for a moment before finding his voice once again. "If what you ssay iss true, I will go to the bassement of the Hall after my evening meal tomorrow. If anyone wishess to follow me, have them meet me there. My wife and sson will be avenged…and if anyone actually showss up, sso too will our entire people be avenged." And with that, Xolotl turned and slithered back down the alley he'd just come through, leaving us alone in the square with Huemac.

The yellow-scaled consort said nothing. He breathed in a deep breath and tasted the air, and then he, too, left the square.

"Time to jump?" I asked Anna.

"Ooh, see, you're gettin' so _goodsies_ at this!" she chuckled. "Ya, we gotta walk over to the dining hall, then we'll jump."

We were able to use the chronograils this time, thank god. I could already say that I hated time travel with a passion, but time traveling via the chronograils, at least, didn't give me any splitting headaches. And so, for the next fifteen or so minutes that it took us to reach the labor camp's dining hall, I didn't complain once.

Anna took my hand and warped us forward by a bit less than a day—I could tell by watching the brightening and subsequent darkening of the sky. When we came out of our jump, the previously quiet and empty dining hall was suddenly full of consorts. Laborers back from their work in the quarries, waiting to have their evening gruel.

Xolotl was sitting at his usual table, sipping away at his gruel. Anna and I headed over in his direction when we walked into the place, and we didn't have to wait long. After the white-scaled consort finished his meal, he pushed his bowl away and sat silently at the table for a minute or two. I knew he was going to head downstairs to the basement, but he almost seemed hesitant to go. Maybe he was afraid no one would show up, maybe he was dreading what he would have to do if anyone _did_ show up… I just don't know.

But in the end, Xolotl stood up, and he headed straight over to the cooks' counters. We followed him behind the tables where the gruel was served and into the basement. Anna and I had been down here before, when Ahuilitzli's father had been cremated on that funeral pyre.

Well, there was no funeral pyre, this time… This time, there was Huemac, waiting for Xolotl at the base of the ramp. Oh, and over two hundred consorts, as well, all of them packed into the underground space, all of them falling completely silent when the white-scaled cobra entered their midst.

"As I ssaid," Huemac smiled, leading Xolotl from the ramp, presenting the crowd of gathered cobra-consorts behind him. "We are many."

Anna whipped her chronograils back out, and we launched into another series of short, brief time jumps, similar to the ones we'd taken earlier when we'd watched Xolotl during his time of mourning. This time, however, we remained in the lower level of the dining hall.

I couldn't really tell you how far ahead in the future we jumped, cumulatively. A year? Two? Three? I figured I'd just ask Anna when we slowed down.

Xolotl was training the consorts. My consorts were snakes—their Vis was quite literally a part of their souls. It was how they interacted with everything around them. Their equivalent of human hands. But, when focused enough, it could also be used as a weapon, as well as a shield from other weapons. That was the problem with these consorts—they'd been in captivity for so long that they'd forgotten how to use their Vis for anything except menial labor.

I could understand some of the logic of introducing Xolotl to their midst. Regardless of the white-scaled consort's many flaws, I'd be the first to admit that Xolotl was crazy good with his Vis. And because he was from the future (relative to this time period), he was quite literally the only consort here who knew how to use their Vis to its fullest potential. Huemac hadn't been lying when he'd said the consorts couldn't free themselves without help.

Xolotl was ruthless as a trainer. I'm sure a good number of his volunteers were having second thoughts when they suddenly found themselves at the mercy of the white-scaled consort's wrath after failing trial after trial, time after time. But Xolotl had learned from his past mistakes. He was patient, and he took his time with the two-hundred or so would-be insurgents. Before, he'd ignored Glimmering Scales's warnings and had sparked his uprising after only a month or two of preparation. This time, though…he trained his volunteers for years. Every single night, he would meet in secret under the dining hall with a portion of his trainees, and he would instruct them how to hone and strengthen their Vis, how to learn to sense and block incoming attacks, how to focus on objects with enough force to crush them…basically your standard Telekinetically Fucking Shit Up 101.

After a few jumps, I began to notice divisions within the consorts Xolotl was training. Some of them seemed to be focusing much more heavily on using their Vis for offensive purposes, while others seemed to be training to use their Vis to defend themselves and their brethren. And a much smaller third group seemed to be drilling with Dersite energy rifles, which struck me as very interesting.

After taking me through a good number of these small time jumps, Anna pulled me up the ramp and out of the basement. "Okay, Sir Sourpuss, this is it," she said to me. "Second-last jump. Two to go, then you can go back. Let's go back to our place on the wall…c'mon, I'll flash us there."

"Wait, no, let's just-" I held up my hands, trying to protest, but Anna took me by the arm before I could finish my thought and pulled me into another flash of that goddamn red light. When the light faded, I found myself standing on the battlements of the wall that surrounded the Dersite sub-compound in the north of the camp. It was the exact same place where we'd watched Xolotl's failed uprising.

I nearly collapsed against the side of the wall, clutching my head as the throbbing ache returned. God _damn_ it all, I hated time travel…

It was nighttime, probably getting close to morning. There was a light rainfall, enough to fill the silence of the night with a soft pattering. I took a moment to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head of everything but the sound of the rain. "How long do we have to wait?" I asked Anna, already having a good idea of what was to come.

"They'll attack before sunrise," Anna replied. "Half an hour, maybe. Figured we'd just chill for a bit…never know when you might get another chance to relax! Skaia ain't ezzactly known for givin' its heroes downtime."

"I can have all the downtime I want back in the present," I grumbled. "Can't we speed things along?"

"Oh, I get it," the corners of Anna's mouth curved up in a wry grin. "Don' wanna spend any more time alone with lil' old me, huh?"

A few minutes ticked on by without either of us speaking. Every once in a while, a Dersite guard would move past, patrolling the top of the walls.

I don't know why I spoke. I don't know why this question popped into my head, but I could hear myself speaking before I could stop myself, and I instantly regretted it the moment the first words came out. "Did you ever like me, Anna?"

Anna arched an eyebrow and looked at me like I had two heads. "Where's this comin' from?" she asked.

I gave a shrug, already swearing up a storm inside my mind. "Dunno, I've just been thinking about things a lot… And _you_ asked _me_ out, sophomore year, not the other way around, so…what gives? You can be a real bitch a lot of the time, but if I've learned one thing from all this it's that you don't do shit for no reason."

Anna didn't answer for the first few seconds. I don't know if she didn't want to answer, or if she was just trying to think of a good way to _convey_ an answer…either way, she let out a little sigh and leaned back against the parapet. "I could see the future, you know," she finally said to me. "I knew that a meteor would hit the high school on April 13th. And I knew there wasn't anythin' I could do to change it. It started on my thirteenth birthday, I'd start dreamin' of the high school blowin' the fuck up… Every fuckin' night, the same dream, over and over… Started gettin' drunksies all the time so I wouldn't have to have that fuckin' dream, but it only worked some of the time."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Oh, yeah, tell everyone that a fuckin' meteor's gonna blow 'em all up on ezzactly April 13, 2009," Anna scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Great fuckin' idea, Einstein. Who would ever think I was crazy? Certainly not, hm… I dunno… _Everyone?_"

"Well-"

"No, just shut it," Anna held up a hand, quelling me. "You wanted to know my shit, so now you gotta know. There were a lotta things I'd see in my dreams, things that hadn't happened yet…but the dream about the meteor hittin' the school came every night. And horrible as it sounds, I'm almost _glad_ that meteor blew up the school back on day one… Proved I actually _could_ see the future, an' I wasn't just insane… I knew that I couldn't save everyone. I knew, somehow, that you and Cass…you an' Cass were the ones I had to save. An' in a nutshell, the only way both of you would survive that explosion was if you convinced her to cut class by taking her out on a date. Trust me, nuthin' else woulda worked. And if I hadn't gone out with you during junior year, you never woulda worked up the balls to even _talk_ to her, let alone ask her out on a fuckin' date…"

That was enough to make me frown. "You can't know that for sure-"

"I can, and I did," Anna cut me off once again. "Saw the future, remember? Seer of Time? So, yeah. I had to bite the bullet an' go out with a kid who I wasn't even remotely attracted to, 'cuz if I _didn't,_ you an' Cass never woulda left school on Meteor Day, and then the rest of us'd be stuck in a doomed timeline…" she reached into her Seer robes and pulled out her flask, which seemed to have been refilled, somehow. Anna drained it in three giant gulps before putting it back. "_Whew_…" she muttered. "Kinda went off on a rant, there. Didn' really mean to, I've jus' never been able to talk about it."

Well. Uh… _Hm_. This was kind of awkward…

It was like that awkward moment when you realize that that annoying kid you've always hated actually has some kind of mental illness…then you start to feel like an asshole.

Luckily, before I could feel like too much of an asshole, we were interrupted by a rebellion.

The last time we'd watched an uprising from the walls of the Dersite compound, there had been several explosions out on the perimeter of the camp. Guard towers had been blown up, as well as the main gates. But then everything had gone wrong because Xolotl's plan had really been hinging on the fact that he assumed all the consorts would rally behind him when he called for them. Then a Dersite gunship had been radioed in, and all the consorts who'd attempted to escape through the destroyed gate were slaughtered.

This time, however, it was not an explosion that sparked off the uprising. This time, it was the horrible, ear-raping screech of tearing metal. And it was coming from behind us.

Anna and I whipped around just in time to see the Dersite compound's giant radio tower come crashing down. Two of the tower's four metal anchors had been twisted and warped until they could no longer bear the weight of the radio tower above, and so they gave way, tearing the two undamaged anchors away with them. After much protest, the entire tower fell over, smashing onto the nearest Dersite mansion.

Alarms started to go off, and a spotlight in a nearby guard tower was turned onto the wreckage of the radio tower. The sabotage was illuminated by the spotlight just long enough for me to spot two long, dark shapes slithering away from the ruined tower, melding away into the shadows. Consorts. They must've coated themselves in some kind of black paint, or oil, or some other substance to render them almost completely invisible in the darkness.

More spotlights clicked in from all the other guard towers that ringed the entire camp, and Dersite guards started to pour out of the mansions, moving quickly up to the top of the walls that surrounded their compound, preparing themselves for a potential riot. The guard sergeants were barking out orders, getting their subordinates into position.

I couldn't really tell what was happening down there, out in the slums of the labor camp. But _something_ was happening… Xolotl was being quiet. Quiet, but effective. Every once in a while, I could hear the faint sound of gunfire, as well as an occasional scream, but that was it. One by one, the spotlights in the perimeter guard towers winked out, extinguished. The labor camp was plunged into darkness once more.

I looked up at the sky, saw the brightening eastern horizon. While we wouldn't see a skaiarise because of the eternal rainclouds, I still knew that it wouldn't be long until the daylight started seeping through the veil of precipitation. If the consorts aimed to get things rolling before daytime, they'd have to move quickly.

The Dersite guards stood rock-solid still, their energy rifles aimed down towards the parade ground, waiting for any sign of movement. I started to get a bit anxious. What was taking Xolotl so long? Shouldn't he have shown himself by now? I had to resist the urge to tap my feet.

Energy bolts started to hit the walls, and Dersites began to fall. The consorts were sniping them. I tried to see where my cobra-dudes were firing from, but it was impossible to tell. It was almost like those 'Nam movies where the Americans are suddenly ambushed by Charlie, only you never see where the enemy actually is. All you can see are brief little snippets of muzzle flashes coming from random bushes. Same thing here, only replace the bushes and jungle with slums of wooden shacks.

The Dersites must have been uber surprised at the fact that the consorts were using their energy weapons. For a few fatal seconds, none of them knew how to react, allowing the consort snipers to pick off a good number of them before the Dersites wised up and started to duck.

As the Dersites began to take cover behind the parapet, I could see consorts emerging from the slums. There were a few dozen of them, maybe around a hundred. Almost half of Xolotl's insurgents. They all charged forward into the small expanse of mud and dust that separated the Dersite compound from the slums while the guards were confused, making a beeline for the walls.

I saw that some of them were carrying long, makeshift wooden poles, constructed from what looked like crossbeams from the roofs of the sturdier shacks. The rest of the consorts who'd revealed themselves ran alongside their brethren who were carrying the poles. They seemed to be using their Vis to protect the pole-carriers from the Dersite guards' weaponsfire. Xolotl had trained them well—they were able to deflect a lot of the energyfire raining down on them…but they weren't gods. A lot of energy bolts still got through, and it wasn't long before consorts started to fall. Several times, a pole-carrier was struck by energyfire, and one of the accompanying consorts would have to grab it with their own Vis before it tumbled to the ground.

Still, despite their losses, the consorts were able to get the poles across the no-man's-land that surrounded the walls of the Dersite compound. Once they reached the foot of the walls, the pole-bearers planted one end of the poles into the ground, then they started tipping them upwards, bringing them up and around until the tops of the poles hit the parapet of the walls. Immediately, the consorts on the ground started coiling themselves around the poles, slithering up towards the top of the walls.

They were using the poles like siege ladders. And now that the siege poles were in place, I noticed that the consort snipers were redirecting their aim, concentrating their fire on the areas of the battlements right where the poles reached, discouraging any of the Dersite guards near those poles from simply leaning over the parapet and firing down at the climbing cobras.

While this was certainly effective, siege ladders were a costly tactic. Not all of the consorts who climbed the poles made it to the top. I didn't want to look over the edge of the walls, because I knew there would be more dead consorts than I wanted to see. The first few consorts who reached the battlements were likewise slaughtered by the Dersites' energy weapons, but after a couple grisly, bloody minutes they were able to start carving out a foothold on the walls.

The consort snipers broke cover and sprinted across the no-man's-land, following the example of their brethren who'd gone before them. They now served as riflemen instead of snipers, climbing the poles and joining their kinsmen on the battlements. Introducing the riflemen—riflecobras?—onto the battlements was enough to start to tip the fight into the consorts' favor. While they'd managed to carve out several footholds, those _footholds_ mostly comprised of a group of consorts doing all they could to keep themselves from getting torn apart by the almost constant weaponsfire raining down on them from the Dersites. When their kinsmen with energy rifles arrived, the Dersite guards started to lose ground.

I could see the wisdom, now, of opening the rebellion by destroying the radio tower. Without communications, the Dersites could not call in any gunships to suppress the insurgents. This labor camp was now isolated, alone.

The remainder of the Dersite guards, the ones who were being held in reserve, jogged out of the barracks, moving up towards the walls to reinforce their beleaguered comrades. That spelled trouble for the consort attackers—sheer force of numbers would quickly overwhelm them if nothing was done. Luckily, this event had been planned for.

"There's our guy," Anna pointed down into the no-man's-land, where I could see the rest of the insurgents emerging from the slums. Over a hundred strong, the second wave of cobra-consorts surged across the moat of mud and dust, sprinting towards the gate, moving like sidewinders flying across sand dunes. Leading them was none other than Xolotl. I'd wondered where he'd been, this whole time…

Xolotl reached the gate first, ordered all his comrades to stand back. I leaned over the edge of the wall, watched as the white-scaled consort took several deep breaths, summoning the strength of his Vis as he prepared to strike. And when he attacked…boy, did he _attack_… He unleashed the full strength of his Vis against the gate, sending a telekinetic surge into the wooden structure with the force of something probably rivaling Grond.

I say rivaling Grond because, like the famous wolf-headed battering ram from Lord of the Rings, Xolotl's attack was enough to absolutely wreck the living shit out of that gate. I didn't actually see the gate come down—all I could hear was the ear-splitting crack of the shattering, splintering wood, followed closely by the thuds of the fragments hitting the ground. When I glanced over the inside edge of the battlements, I could then see the second wave of insurgents surging like a tidal wave into the Dersite compound through the now-open gateway.

The Dersite reinforcements were caught by surprise by the shattering gate, and so were only poorly prepared to deal with an entire wave of consorts on their own. They'd just been expecting to support their comrades on the battlements, to help mop up a few points of resistance…certainly not to repel a full-blown assault from the ground.

Xolotl was the first one to tear into the disorganized Dersite guards…and holy motherfucking shit, he was absolutely _terrifying_ in combat. He quite literally left a trail of blood wherever he went; a trail of blood, Dersite corpses, severed carapacian body parts, and even internal organs in some cases. When I've fought with my Aspect, I've snapped necks, crushed ribs…nothing too visible, I guess? But Xolotl…he fought _bloody_. His kills were brutal in every sense of the word, and… You know what, I don't think I need to describe them all—I think you get the idea. If you find yourself in a battle with Xolotl, just pray that he's on _your_ side.

After a few minutes of watching the Dersite guards get their asses handed to them by the second wave of consorts, Anna whipped out her chronograils, grabbed me, and pulled me into our last time jump. We only shifted a couple hours into the future. It was daytime, now—nearly mid-morning. At Anna's behest, I grabbed hold of her and used my Aspect to float us both off the walls and down to the ground. Dersite corpses were littered all over the compound, but the consorts who'd died in the uprising had been lain out in neat rows at the foot of the walls.

We went to the parade ground. All of the consorts were gathered at the one end of the parade ground, watching as a line of prisoners was brought out to be executed, just like any other day…only there were a few crucial differences. The line of prisoners consisted of the surviving Dersite guards, including the Overseer. Upon the Overseer's platform stood Xolotl, who seemed to have just finished speaking to the crowd of consorts.

Damn, we just seemed to be missing all the good speeches…

The consorts of the Desert Fires were all silent. They weren't going wild, or cheering for their newfound freedom. The sheer concept of freedom was so alien to them that I think it was gonna take a long time for them to get acclimated to…well, to _life_.

Xolotl gave a nod to Huemac, who was standing ready at the far left of the line of Dersite survivors. Using what I recognized as the Overseer's energy pistol, the yellow-scaled consort made his way down the line of survivors, executing them one by one with well-placed energy slugs to the back of the head. The Dersites died without a fight. And when Huemac reached the Overseer, at the far right end of the line, Xolotl stopped him.

The white-scaled consort slithered off the platform, taking Huemac's place behind the Overseer. The Dersite commandant looked back at Xolotl as the white-scaled consort took the energy pistol, and I could almost feel the utter contempt in his gaze. "Think you've gone and beaten us, do you?" the Overseer snarled. "Think you've won an entire war just because you managed to sack a single labor camp? You have no idea what lies ahead for-"

Xolotl cut the Overseer off midsentence with an energy slug to the face. After the Dersite's corpse fell to the ground, the white-scaled consort finished the whole thing by baring his fangs and spitting on it. And that was that.

"Too quick a death for that one, if you assk me," Huemac grunted, speaking loud enough only for Xolotl to hear.

"Would that he had more than one life to give," Xolotl murmured in agreement. "But we agreed to do thiss in front of everyone. A public display. We musst not act like barbarianss in front of our kinssmen, no matter how much we wish to. We are not _them,_" the white-scaled consort gestured at the line of recently executed Dersites.

Anna cleared her throat, getting my attention as Xolotl started making his way back to the Overseer's platform. "Time to get you back to your present time," she said to me, taking my arm. "We're donesies here."

"What about Xolotl?" I gestured at the white-scaled cobra. "He coming, too?"

"Ya, but he's still got some shit to take care of, here," Anna replied. "I'll drop him off at the same time as you, though, so don' worry!"

"Wait, I-" I held up my hands, starting to protest, but before I could even finish that sentence there was another blinding flash of red light, followed by that quintessential time traveling headache of the ages… Jesus, if I kept doing this, I wouldn't be surprised if I went all-out Desmond Hume and started bleeding from the nose.

When the light faded…I found myself back in the Skaian temple of the Desert Fires, standing in front of the bronze brazier where the council fire was burning. I was back in Aztlán, the central city of the Desert Fires, in a room full of desert elders and clan chiefs…and from their perspective, I'd just reappeared after vanishing in a flash of red light along with a drunken stranger. They were confused, and confused people had a tendency to start shouting.

Matters only got worse when, about three seconds later, there was a second flash of red light, and none other than Xolotl himself appeared. The white-scaled consort looked about a hundred kinds of bewildered and disoriented, looking around at his new surroundings, his mouth hanging open in awe.

I looked around for Anna, but she didn't seem to have come back with Xolotl. She'd probably jumped to some other indeterminate point on the alpha timeline, off to do more Time shenanigans, and leaving me hanging out to dry in the meantime. I cleared my throat awkwardly and turned to face all the gathered consorts, not to mention Xolotl.

Yay, now I get to try and explain what the fuck just happened before they decide to put me back on that sacrificial slab, just outside.

"Not one much for goodbyes, are you, Anna," I grumbled to myself.

* * *

><p><strong>END OF INTERMISSION I<strong>


	28. IV Chapter 28: Campaign

**Act IV: Concerning the Dual Journeys of a Knight and his Dream Self**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Twenty-Eight: Campaign<span>

"You almost _what?_" Theo asked me, nearly pausing Left 4 Dead to make sure he'd heard me right. I was barely able to understand him through the mouthful of white cheddar popcorn that he was chewing. "Almost had to kill your own consorts?"

"Well it's not like I would've _wanted_ to kill them," I protested, mashing the left trigger of my xbox controller, spamming melee to keep the latest swarm of Infected at bay while I reloaded my M16. I was playing as Bill—you had to use an M16 if you're playing as Bill. I mean, come on! "And I'm not talking about _all_ my consorts—just the leaders of the desert dudes. They were on the verge of putting me back on that sacrificial slab! What, you think I should've just let them kill me?"

"Well, no, but… I mean…" Theo shrugged. "Man, your consorts are assholes."

"At least mine didn't throw me off a mountain."

"Oh, 'cuz being forced to climb a ladder made of swords is so much more enjoyable," my best friend shot back.

Okay, he had me there. "Yeah, you're right; my consorts _are_ assholes," I chuckled. "I guess we just go hand in hand—_TANK! Motherfucking tank!_" I shouted suddenly, cutting myself off midsentence. We were playing through Dead Air—the Left 4 Dead campaign that took us through an airport—and everything had been going swimmingly…until the gut-wrenching music cue of the Tank shattered the relative quiet of the Infected-filled airport. I barely had time to move my character to safety before a giant slab of concrete came hurling towards me out of the darkness.

"'Course the Tank comes now, right after I used up my first-aid kit…" Theo muttered. He finished reloading his automatic shotgun and started to go after the Tank…only to walk right into the Boomer that was hiding just around the corner. The horribly obese special Infected vomited in his face, blinding Theo's character with its zombie-attracting green bile. To make matters worse, Theo instinctively fired his weapon at the Boomer, causing it to explode, disorienting Theo's character even further.

Theo got completely swarmed by the Infected. Even though he spammed melee to keep the Infected at arm's length, he was completely surrounded—melee only knocked back the Infected in front of you, not the ones behind you or to your sides. Before long, he went down, incapacitated. And during all this, the Tank incapacitated Zoey and Francis—the other two characters who were controlled by the computer—and came after me. I unloaded my entire magazine on the big fucker, but it wasn't enough. The Tank caught up with me and ended up smacking my character down to the other end of the corridor, far enough to incapacitate me just by hitting the floor.

That left all four characters incapacitated, which lost us the game. We'd have to restart from the beginning of this level, now.

"Aw, motherfucker!" Theo swore, tossing a handful of popcorn at the TV. "We were almost at the safehouse, too! Goddamn Boomers…"

"Yeah, that was complete bullshit," I readily agreed, doing my best to hide a smile. It always cracked me up how flustered Theo would sometimes get when _he_ ended up being the reason why we lost a game. "So, we gonna do Blood Harvest next? Or Death Toll? We haven't done Death Toll in a while..."

"Naw, man," Theo shook his head. "The King's due back from his patrol any minute-"

As if on cue, two loud hornblasts rang out from the near distance, echoing off the walls of the White Keep and the rest of the castle below. I set down my Xbox controller and walked over to the window that faced the direction of the castle's main gate. Sure enough, I could see the vast, looming shape of the prototyped White King approaching the Keep from the west.

I'd learned from Theo that the alteration of the Prospitian and Dersite monarchs' physical form had something to do with our kernelsprites. The Queens drew their power through their rings, while the Kings got their mojo from their scepters. And they received a massive power boost while wielding their items of power…but the catch—at least, _I_ thought it was a catch—was that their appearance took on certain attributes of whatever we had prototyped our kernelsprites with before entry into the incipisphere. And as I studied the White King in his prototyped form, I could pick out what those characteristics were.

I mean, I prototyped my kernelsprite with my Roman eagle, so the White King had wings. At first I thought the wings were from Cass's dragonsprite, but upon closer inspection I could tell that the wings were very clearly eagle wings. No, Cass's prototyping of her dragon sculpture was the reason why the White King occasionally breathed fire. And Theo's sprite, prototyped with his Subject Delta Big Daddy figurine, from Bioshock 2, resulted in the King having a massive drill in the place of a left hand. I could see the different physical traits from all the sprites…except Gino's. All Gino's prototyping seemed to have accomplished was to make the White King smell like pizza.

But I digress…

Theo and I didn't bother heading down the corridors to the transportalizer room. Instead, we both jumped out the windows and simply floated down to the steps leading up to the White Keep's entrance. That was where we'd met the King the last few times he's returned from doing God knows what out in the far reaches of the Battlefield.

The Prospitian Royal Guardsmen stationed at the entrance had no reaction to our sudden arrival, but that was normal for them. I don't think I've ever once heard a royal guard speak. They had a job to do, and that obviously didn't involve displaying emotions. Theo and I were left standing there, twiddling our thumbs until the White King showed up.

"So, you never told me how your consorts decided to let you off scot-free for all that shit Anna pulled," Theo said to me. "How'd you get outta that one?"

"Shenanigans," I grunted, not exactly in the mood to talk about all the crazy shit my consorts like to pull. I was extremely glad to be on the Battlefield, at the moment, inhabiting the body of my dream self just to get _away_ from all that bullshit for a little while.

The King arrived within five minutes. He had sheathed his scepter, so he was no longer the size of a small building. He was back to his normal, unprototyped, nearly six-foot-tall form. The Prospitians who resided in the White Keep were all making a big deal out of the King's return, but the White King seemed to only want to get through the crowds as quickly as he could. He gestured for us to follow him as he brushed past us, heading into the Keep.

We followed him down the corridor and into his throne room—though it resembled a library much more than a throne room. The first thing the White King did after the doors closed behind him was to retrieve his pack of Marlboro Reds from the desk. After a moment's hesitation, he then grabbed an additional three or four packs, dumping them into an inner pocket.

"Bear with me for a moment," the King said to us, taking a cigarette from his pack that was already open, lighting it with his zippo. After he took a deep drag, he was able to relax and take a few deep breaths. "There, that is certainly quite a bit better…" he sighed. "Come with me, Heroes. It is time for us to take a leave of absence from the Keep."

"We goin' out on campaign?" Theo asked.

"Yes," the White King replied. "We have lost contact with three of our outposts on the edge of the Badlands. Recon patrols have yet to return, but I am not going to sit on this one. Three outposts in the same sector do not simply go dark without some form of foul play being involved… And if I am going to be out campaigning, I need cigarettes…" the King then turned to me, speaking to me exclusively. "I am obviously not forcing you to join me, Knight—you do have a choice. But if you decide to come along, I shall certainly not complain! My soldiers do their duty well, but they could use every little bit of help. And so could I."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I grunted. "I'm not exactly on good terms with the Dersites…"

The White King gave a hearty bark of laughter, clapping me on the shoulder. "That's just what I wanted to hear! Nothing quite like an angry and motivated Hero of Force, if you ask me." As he closed his desk drawer, he took out a small handheld radio and issued several hushed orders before shutting it off and slipping it into an inner pocket—presumably a different pocket than the one he was keeping all his cigarettes in. "Follow me, Heroes; an airship will take us where we need to go."

We exited the throne room and headed down the entrance corridor, walking back out into the great outdoors. Although, does the interior of an open castle really count as the great outdoors? Eh, who knows and who really cares?

The first thing I noticed was the small, golden Prospitian gunship hovering in the air just over the entrance of the White Keep. It was a small ship with retractable armored doors, like a helicopter. Instead of having a single set of rotor blades, though, it had two smaller sets of rotor blades that angled up and off to the sides. Maybe this made it more stable in the air? I dunno, I'm no expert.

One of the side doors of the airship was slid open from the inside, and a rope ladder was tossed down. The White King grabbed hold of it and started pulling himself up. Theo didn't use the ladder, though. He took a deep breath and propelled himself up into the aircraft with a soft gust of wind. Man, watching him do the whole airbender thing never got old… As for me, I just floated up to the airship on my own—advantages of being a dream self. I was the last inside, and I moved to shut the side door, but the White King stopped me. "I prefer having the sides open," he explained, grinning as the airship started to pull away from the White Keep, soaring up towards the Skaian clouds. "Can't enjoy the scenery with closed doors, now, can we?"

I could see a shorter Prospitian in the cockpit, dressed in a light brown leather jacket and a helmet emblazoned with the Prospitian symbol—a golden pentagon with eight spires protruding from four of its sides; two spires per side, obviously. Representative, I could only assume, of _us,_ the eight players of this session. He must have been the one to push out that rope ladder.

Also taking up some space in the troop bay, here, were the two door guns. They appeared to be some sort of heavy machineguns, though I think they probably fired energy projectiles. It was almost kinda funny how far to either extreme the carapacians' weapons were. Either they were carrying swords and energy-resistant armor, or all-out energy weapons. No normal guns; all energy weapons. I have no idea how they made it work, using melee weapons in conjunction with fucking energy rifles…but they've been apparently fighting for millennia, so they must've found a way.

"So what's the Badlands?" I had to speak loudly to be heard over the din of the engine and the wind rushing past the side openings.

"Used to be where the Dersites had their largest splicing facility," Theo explained to me. "Nuthin' there anymore, though. Prospitian Royal Air Force completely obliterated the entire area during the last war. The outposts there are pretty much just a formality."

"There a reason why we can't just teleport ourselves there?"

The White King blinked at me. "Teleport?" he echoed, confusion in his voice.

I stopped myself from muttering under my breath. "_Transportalize_ ourselves there. _Transportalize_. My bad."

"The use of transportalizer pads on the Battlefield was popular once, though it proved to be disastrous," the White King sighed. "Codebreakers on both sides would be able to hack into the signals of enemy transportalizer pads. I can think of at least three occasions in which the Dersites were nearly able to transportalize an entire army straight into the White Keep! Of course, I very nearly sacked the Black Keep an equal number of times using the same method. We have always been locked in stalemates such as this…though I am hoping your arrival will tip things in our favor."

When he finished speaking, he pulled another cig from his opened pack and lit up, sitting down and resting against the bulkhead separating the troop bay from the cockpit. Theo and I remained standing, steadying ourselves by grabbing onto the handholds mounted on the ceiling. The flight took us over half an hour, and we were moving at a pretty good speed. The White King went through almost half a pack of his Cowboy Killers. He flicked the smoldering butt of his eighth or ninth cigarette out one of the side openings before climbing to his feet. "We have almost arrived," he announced.

I leaned out one of the side entrances, using my Aspect to keep the wind from tearing at my eyes and face. Sure enough, I could see some kind of structure down on the ground, off in the near distance. It was a small castle, by the looks of it…thick, white outer walls, a citadel in the center flying Prospitian banners, giant cannons of some sort forming the defenses… I guess it could be more accurately described as a fort, rather than a full-on castle.

"That is Fort Terminus," the White King unknowingly confirmed my last thought. "It is our nearest garrison to the Badlands, as well as headquarters to the Alabaster Rifles, one of my finest divisions. Fine chaps. Fine chaps, indeed."

"Wouldn't want any _other_ kinds of chaps," I remarked.

Our airship came in for a landing in front of the fort's gates. The rotors had barely started to die when we all hopped out of the airship. The fort was sitting on the top of a wide hill, within one of the giant white squares of the Battlefield's earth. It had a commanding view over all the surrounding area, making it a favorable location for a fort. Especially one with energy cannons.

The gates were already open. Whether this was in anticipation of the White King's arrival, or if it was simply because there were no enemies in the area…I honestly couldn't say. I'm still what you would call 'new here'. After all, this was only my second full dream on the Battlefield—not counting the dream when I left Prospit and _arrived_ here, only to nearly get shot out of the sky by Dersite commandos.

We passed through the gates and headed towards the citadel. There were Prospitian soldiers—members of the Alabaster Rifles, presumably—who were already residing in the fort. Some of them were manning their posts on the watch, others were pulling sentry duty in front of the entrance to the citadel or in the gatehouse. If there was anyone who was off duty, we didn't see them.

The sentries stood aside for the White King, allowing us entry into the citadel. We followed the White King through a series of halls and small chambers until we emerged into a room that, in stark contrast to the archaic feel of the castle, resembled a military command center. Prospitians were sitting at stations with headphones over their ears. They appeared to be monitoring and coordinating radio traffic within and between all the units in the area. In the center of the chamber was a low, broad table with a gray surface that glowed softly. Holographic symbols and images were projected barely half an inch off the glowing surface—it was a tactical map of some sort. I couldn't make heads or tails of it…but then, I wasn't a Prospitian commander.

The tall dude poring over the gray table _was,_ though. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Prospitian, dressed in a dark, greenish-yellow combat jacket and similar colored trousers. A small, wooden pipe hung lazily from the corner of his mouth. He also had a rather noticeable scar on his face, running from the top of his head, down through the empty socket of his left eye, and almost all the way to his mouth. On both of his sleeves, he wore a small, simple, circular golden patch that bore the image of two crossed white rifles. Alabaster Rifles. I noticed that everyone in the room bore the same symbol on their own sleeves.

The scarred Prospitian glanced up at us as we entered the chamber. He instantly removed the pipe from his mouth and stood ramrod straight at attention. "My King," the scarred dude bowed his head, relaxing only when the White King returned the gesture. "Welcome to Fort Terminus. I've been expecting you…and who are the aliens?" he grunted, squinting over at Theo and me, as if he thought narrowing his vision would somehow increase his understanding of us.

"I present to you the Thane of Breath and the Knight of Force," the White King introduced us.

"Hey."

"'sup."

Theo and I spoke at pretty much the same time.

The scarred dude blinked his one eye at us, looking somewhat less than impressed. "Wonderful to have you," he said to us, not even attempting to hide his sarcasm.

The White King didn't waste any time. He brought us straight over to the scarred guy's table and got down to business. "The runners informed me that we have lost contact with three of our outposts—tell me everything."

"Outposts 33-W, 34-W, and 35-W, to be precise," the scarred dude manipulated the controls of the table. There was a myriad of different symbols overlaid on top of the topography of the surrounding regions. The scarred guy highlighted three small, triangular symbols that were situated not far from the edge of a region of land that was colored a dark gray. "Recon patrols have been dispatched to each location, but we have not heard back from them."

"When were the patrols sent out?" the King asked.

The scarred guy hesitated, then replied, "Over two hours ago."

It was the White King's turn to blink. "Recon protocol mandates patrols to check in with headquarters every half-hour, and _none_ of these three separate forces have complied?"

"Which is why I am about to send out a second recon team-" the scarred dude started to say, but the King cut him off.

"Scratch that," the King interrupted. He then paused for a moment or two, obviously thinking things over, before making up his mind. "Recon patrols are vanishing, so I believe we should up the stakes. Send out an armored patrol, this time. In the meantime, mobilize the Rifles—if anything is amiss, I want us to be ready. The Black King is up to something… And if neither of you objects, my Heroes, I would have you accompany them."

"Sounds like fun," I nodded.

"Fun?" the scarred dude turned his monocular gaze onto me. _Uh-oh_. "Is that what this is to you? I have lost more good men than I have the mental faculties to count in this war, and you consider it to be fun and games?"

"No, uh…" I cleared my throat awkwardly, suddenly wanting to be at least a thousand miles away from this room. "It was sarcasm. A joke. You know what a joke is?"

"Yes, I am fully aware," the scarred guy growled. "And next time you decide to act the clown, just remember that good Prospitians are dying every day so that you can _continue_ to act the clown."

We didn't remain for further discussion. I, for one, was grateful to get the fuck outta there. "Bit of a dick, isn't he?" I muttered to Theo as we exited the citadel. "I mean, that's not exactly the worst thing I've ever said!"

"Oh, the Scarred Marshal ain't so bad," Theo shrugged. "He's a kickass military commander; he just doesn't have a sense of humor. Bein' a smartass right in the middle of his command post probably wasn't the best idea you've ever had."

"What, he was being a dick!" I spread my hands out wide, still maintaining my innocence. "I mean, I respect what he's doing, and everything, but damn! Don't have to be such an asshole, you know?"

Theo's brow furrowed slightly in a frown, but he didn't say anything. He led me to the gates of Fort Terminus, out onto the hillside beyond. The White King's orders must have been relayed, already, because I could already see a small force of armored golden Humvees being assembled at the base of the hill upon which Fort Terminus sat. Prospitian soldiers were mounting up, checking their equipment and weapons, as well as their vehicles.

Theo and I joined them, trading nods and waves with several of the soldiers. When I moved to climb into one of the armored vehicles, Theo gave a sharp whistle, grabbing my attention. I glanced back, saw that Theo was still standing a short distance away from the vehicles. "C'mon, bro, you gonna hop on?" I asked.

"Got somethin' better," Theo grinned. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small brown wallet. He pulled out what I recognized as a captchalogue card and tossed it into the air. The card vanished, releasing the object that had been stored on it. A car appeared, all of a sudden. A small, decade-old blue Ford Focus, with what appeared to be a heavy machinegun bolted to the roof.

It was Little Blue. _My_ car.

I blinked rapidly several times, taking in the sight of my car. "How…you…how did…?"

"I needed a car, and the White King had an appearifier, so…" Theo gave an apologetic shrug. "You fell off the grid for almost a month, dude, and you obviously weren't using your car for anything, so…didn't think you'd mind."

"You stole my car, busted up the roof, and put a _turret_ on top?" I paused for a moment, letting Theo stew for a little bit. Then I burst out laughing. "Dude, that's fucking _amazing!_ Holy shit, can I drive?"

Theo tossed me the keys. "Always wanted to use the turret, sometime," his grin widened. "Couldn't trust the Prospitians to drive Little Blue, so I never got gunner duty!"

It felt almost surreal as I opened the car doors and slid into the driver's seat. The last time I'd driven Little Blue, it'd been…it'd been… Gee, I really don't know how long it's been. A month? Last time I'd driven Little Blue, it had been when I was driving to school on Monday, April 13. The day the school was blown up by a meteor. The day we became a fucking extinct-

Shit. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. I shook my head, doing my best to get those toxic thoughts out of my mind. I couldn't afford to think about what happened to Earth, all those people—every time I started to think about that kind of shit, it threatened to pull me down into depression. And depression wasn't something I needed, right now.

I smiled as I ran my hands over the steering wheel and the gear shift. A round hole had been cut into Little Blue's roof to allow for a gunner to operate the turret mounted on top. When not in use, like right now, it was sealed with glass, acting almost like a normal sunroof. The radio system had also been heavily modified, probably to pick up Prospitian signals.

Theo climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him. I couldn't help but glance at his kilt as he sat down. When a Hero went god tier, the clothes they ended up with seemed to tie into whatever their titles were. Theo, for instance, as a Thane, had a blue t-shirt with the Breath symbol, and a great kilt—the kind with the extra length of fabric that went over the wearer's shoulder. He even had blue socks that stretched up to his knees. It should have looked like the silliest thing in the universe…but he somehow made it work. And, to be perfectly technical, we weren't exactly _in_ the universe, anymore.

"Okay, dude, if you're gonna be sitting next to me like that…" I gestured at Theo's Thane clothes as I slid the keys into the ignition. "Seriously, are you wearing anything under your skirt?"

Theo raised his eyebrows at me. "You're aware that not telling you if I have boxers on or not is at least eighty-percent of the fun of wearing a kilt in the first place?" he asked, not even bothering to acknowledge my _skirt_ jab.

"Yeah, well if the thing ever goes up Marilyn Monroe-style and you _aren't_ wearing anything, I'm pushing you out of the car. You've been warned," I grunted, turning the keys in the ignition. Instead of the usual initial coughing sound of a starting engine, though, Little Blue's motor came to life in a much smoother, quieter way than normal. The entire car vibrated slightly for a second, then settled back down, the engine now running. Even the engine felt different…it felt as if the car were humming softly.

That's when I noticed that the fuel gauge on the dashboard was reading empty. "Hey, how's Little Blue still running if there isn't any gas?" I asked Theo.

"'Cuz it doesn't run on gas, anymore," Theo replied. "It's powered by a shard of Omnicrystal, from the Land of Shores and Prisms."

"The land of what now?"

"Gwen's planet," Theo clarified. "They're these weird crystals she found that contain a metric fuckton of energy—she found a way to wire one of them into Little Blue. You'll never have to fill up again! Which is good, I guess, 'cuz there ain't exactly a whole bunch of Sunocos or Wawas out here… You wouldn't think it by looking at her, but who ever woulda thought Gwen was so awesome at inventing shit like this?"

"Side-effect of being a Witch of the knowledge Aspect, I guess," I shrugged. "I'll stick to my telekinesis, though, thank you much."

The radio crackled for a few moments, and Theo had to fiddle around with one of the knobs before the gruff voice of the Scarred Marshal issued through. "…_channel is now open. All vehicles report._"

"_This is Iron Lead, reporting in._"

"_Iron Two, reporting in_."

"_Iron Three…_"

One by one, the eight vehicles that formed the armored patrol radioed in, affirming their status. After all of them had checked in, there was a brief pause. Then the Scarred Marshal got back on the line. "_Heroes, report. Do not think yourselves to be above mission protocol if you are going to be accompanying my men into the field._"

I was overjoyed to discover that our radio had the old-fashioned hand-held mic, the kind with the cord that you held to your mouth and pressed that button on the side when you spoke into it. I felt like a storm chaser from the movie _Twister_ whenever I used one of those things. I reached for the mic, but Theo slapped my hand away.

"No more pissing off the Marshal today," my best friend warned me, holding the mic up to his own mouth and activating it. "Uh…hey, this is Theo. Rockin' and rollin', over here!"

I arched an eyebrow at him. _Rockin' and rollin'? Really?_ Theo flipped me the bird.

"_No names over the net,_" the Scarred Marshal snapped over the channel. "_Your title will be sufficient_."

"Yeah, 'cuz _no one_ will guess who the Thane could possibly be," I rolled my eyes, throwing Little Blue into _drive,_ sending us off after the Prospitian Humvees as they rumbled off in the direction of the Badlands. I had to ease up on the gas—though I guess I really couldn't call it the _gas,_ anymore…old habits die hard. When I pressed down on the accelerator, I ended up letting out a loud stream of profanity as Little Blue tore through the tall grass, catching up to the Prospitian vehicles in two or three heartbeats.

"Jesus, this thing packs a punch, now…" I muttered, getting Little Blue back under control.

"Told ya," Theo said as he rolled down his window, letting his arm hang free along the side of the car. "Omnicrystals have a metric fuckton of energy. The shard Gwen put in your engine'll make Little Blue go pretty damn fast!"

"Only a shard, you said?"

Theo gave me a look. "Little Blue would probably break the sound barrier if it had an entire crystal powering it. And that wouldn't do wonders for its structural integrity. Meaning, it would probably-"

"I know what structural integrity means," I muttered, maneuvering Little Blue into the empty spot in the Prospitians' formation. "They aren't exactly the longest words in the dictionary."

"_All units, this is Iron Lead. Split off into fireteams – maintain contact with Fort Terminus,_" the radio crackled to life once again, though this time it was the voice of the Prospitian officer in charge of the patrol, rather than the Scarred Marshal. He then addressed us directly. "_Heroes, form up on my left. You are coming with me._"

"Acknowledged, Iron Lead; we are Oscar Mike," Theo responded via our own radio.

I gave Theo a look. "Oscar Mike? Really? Do you even know what that means?"

"No," Theo admitted with a sheepish grin. "But it sounds cool as shit!"

"You play too much Call of Duty…"

Apparently the Prospitians had no idea what Theo meant, either, for Iron Lead's next transmission was, "_Er… Who is Oscar Mike?_"

"No, it's not a person, it's… _We're_ Oscar Mike; we're…" Theo made a flustered attempt to save face, which ultimately ended up collapsing in on itself. "Ah, fuck it. We're right behind your ass."

I did my best to hide my smile as I got right behind Iron Lead's ass. Well, behind and to the left.

A second Prospitian Humvee formed up on our right, also following the front Humvee's lead. I would assume that vehicle was Iron Two. The remaining six vehicles both split into two teams of three, branching off in either direction while we continued heading straight.

As we continued westward—at least, I think we were going west—the more or less flat grasslands that we were plowing through began to get more hilly. Within a few minutes, I could spot mountains on the horizon. I couldn't really see anything beyond the mountains…just a light, grayish fog. Even the luminous, bluish-white Skaian clouds beyond the mountains were obscured.

"Badlands beyond those mountains?" I wagered a guess.

Theo gave a shrug. "Ain't never been out here, before. Still, the gray fog kinda seems like a dead giveaway, so you're probably right."

We drove in silence until those mountains that had been on the horizon were no longer on the horizon. After maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes of steady cruising, we found ourselves on a wide road that started to climb up into the first of the mountains. "_Terminus Actual, this is Iron Lead – we have reached the mountains,_" the Prospitian officer leading the patrol radioed back to base. "_Outpost 34-W not yet in sight_."

"_Acknowledged, Iron Lead; update when you have visual on 34-W,_" the Scarred Marshal's response was. The other two patrols radioed in at more or less the same time, both of them having the same message.

The mountain road could barely even be called a road. It was more or less just a shelf that had been cut into the side of the mountain. Bare rock – no dirt, gravel, asphalt, or anything road-related. I found myself having to relax every few minutes, when I noticed my grip on the steering wheel was turning my knuckles bone-white. I mean, if I were to drive over the edge—embarrassment aside—Theo and I would easily be able to survive due to a chronic case of being able to fly…but I really didn't want to wreck Little Blue.

Sis would kill me if I wrecked Little Blue. And speaking of Sis…

"So, uh…random question, but have you seen your Grandma at all, lately?" I asked Theo.

Theo's grin faltered slightly, but he quickly covered for it. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious…" I shrugged. "I mean, I haven't seen my Sis since Day One in this hellhole."

"Okay, well same here," Theo murmured. "Grandma helped me get up to my first gate, then I never saw her again."

"I hope they're okay, wherever they are…" I decided to file those thoughts under the _restricted_ section of my mind. Along with all thoughts of home, of what happened to Earth. Can't think about that kind of shit, right now.

The mountain road took us around two mountains before depositing us onto a ridge overlooking the foothills on the other side of the mountain range. And a short distance beyond the foothills…it was almost as if the grass and trees consciously made the decision to stop growing past a certain point. Though it was obscured in part by the gray fog, I could see that everything beyond the western foothills almost resembled a wasteland. Bare rock formations, old craters and gaps in the ground, tree stumps… There had obviously been a giant battle in that area, and the land did not seem to have recovered from it.

"Reasons why you shouldn't fuck with the Prospitian Royal Air Force," Theo observed, nodding at the gray lands to the west.

"_Fort Terminus, this is Iron Six!_" the radio came to life suddenly, though the transmission was garbled and full of static. "_Arrived…utpost 35-W! There's no…aking heavy fire! The Dersites, they…_" It was really hard to make out what the dude was trying to say…but the very last part of his transmission came through pretty clearly. The Prospitian was still trying to send his transmission, when suddenly another voice—one of the other soldiers in the speaker's Humvee—screamed _Look out!_ Then the transmission dissolved into static.

"_Iron Six, this is Terminus Actual – please repeat your last!_" the Scarred Marshal came back onto the channel, trying to reestablish contact with the patrol. There was no response. "_Iron Six, this is Terminus Actual, do you read? Iron Seven or Iron Eight, please respond, over. Does anyone in the third patrol hear me?_"

The Scarred Marshal continued trying to contact anyone who had been in the last patrol, the one that had branched off to the north to investigate Outpost 35-W. There was nothing.

Theo and I shared a look. "That doesn't exactly sound reassuring," I said quietly.

"And that doesn't _look_ reassuring," Theo pointed at the pillar of smoke that had just come into view as we rounded the next bend.

We had arrived at Outpost 34-W. It had been burned to the ground.


	29. IV Chapter 29: Behemoths

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Behemoths

I pulled up to the burning wreckage of the tower that had once been Outpost 34-W. There was barely anything left – just charred rubble, smoldering wrecks of vehicles…and carbonized skeletons. Yeah, the outpost had been obliterated, and its inhabitants obviously hadn't been any luckier than their post.

The two Prospitian Humvees that we were accompanying rumbled to a stop alongside us, and the officer dismounted. Theo and I stepped out of Little Blue and joined him, though I left the engine running. It didn't run on gas, anymore; I could get away with leaving it running. We picked through the wreckage, trying to help the officer search for whatever it was he was looking for. As we looked through the rubble, the officer took a handheld radio off his belt and activated it—it seemed like a short range device, so it must have jumped its signal off the transmitters in one of the Humvees.

"Fort Terminus, this is Iron Lead; we have arrived at Outpost 34-W… There is nothing left but rubble and skeletons."

There was a pause on the other end as the Scarred Marshal received the message. Then, "_Have you recovered the black box?_"

"I do not believe the black box survived, sir," the officer said. "As I said, there is nothing left but rubble and skeletons."

Another pause. "_Very well, Iron Lead, proceed with caution. Contact has been lost with the other two patrols. Terminus Actual out_."

"What are we looking for, again?" I asked, trying to tip over a charred crossbeam with my foot, only to have the burnt wood crumble into ash and embers. There was a faint, distinct odor in the air and wind…ozone. I think it reminded me of ozone. I could still smell the energy discharge of the weapons that had reduced this place to wreckage.

"This outpost's black box," the officer replied. "It is a recording device, where all of the outpost's surveillance data is stored. However, judging by the state of things here, I highly doubt it survived…"

Before the officer could say anything more, he was interrupted by the ground suddenly shaking. That unnerved me, to say the least. Having the ground shaking never really spelled anything good, and I don't think this particular occasion would prove to be an exception.

"What the hell's goin' on?" to most people, Theo really didn't sound scared at all…but I knew him too well. He was nervous as shit, right now.

Then the impossible happened. I was expecting a large force of Dersite commandoes, or even a Dersite airstrike, or…well, I dunno. I certainly wasn't expecting a giant, thirty, forty-foot-tall behemoth to come climbing over the edge of the ridge. It didn't even look like a horribly oversized Dersite…it was something completely different. Dersite, yes…but not a standard carapacian. Almost like a Cyclops, as opposed to a giant human. The fact that it had three pointy legs and moved almost like a robot didn't exactly help.

It wore makeshift clothing of purple, red, and dark green—Dersite colors. It wore some kind of pointy helmet capped by a small symbol shaped like a cross. Oh, and it had a massive fucking cannon in the place of its right arm.

I've been dealing with bullshit on my planet for too long to just be able to stand around and stare at the giant fucking thing with my jaw hanging open. When something big and unexpected happened—and believe me, it's happened a lot—I fucking ran my ass off. I was halfway back to Little Blue by the time Theo exclaimed, "What the fuck _is_ that thing?"

Two things saved our asses. First; the fact that I'd parked a distance away from the Humvees, and second; the fact that I'd left the engine running. Were it not for either of those things happening, I wouldn't be alive, right now. Or at least, my _dream_ self wouldn't be alive right now. But still, who wants to lose a dream self?

The Prospitian soldier who'd been riding shotgun with the officer had been in the process of stepping out of his Humvee to confer with his superior, and that ended up saving his life. The Dersite behemoth fired its arm cannon, sending a bright red beam of crackling, roiling _fuck-you_ straight at us. The energy barrage slammed into the Humvees, which had been parked next to each other. Both Prospitian vehicles brewed up in flames, vanishing in violent explosions of fire and pieces of molten golden metal.

The Prospitian soldier who'd just managed to step outside his vehicle went flying. He'd been knocked unconscious by the explosion, and also appeared to have shrapnel lodged in his chest.

I leaped into Little Blue and wrenched the gear shift from _park_ down to _drive,_ not bothering with my seat belt. I was already pounding the accelerator before I even closed the door. Little Blue's wheels skidded furiously against the ground for a second before finding purchase and sending me hurtling forward.

The Prospitian officer and Theo had recovered the wounded soldier. They were still horribly exposed, but the Dersite behemoth had turned its attention to me—I guess its reasoning was the people on the ground could be dealt with once all the vehicles had been destroyed, so Little Blue was next on the menu.

Yeah. Over my dead body.

I didn't go straight for Theo and the officer because the behemoth's energy cannon would have vaporized them instantaneously if I'd drawn it over in their direction. The behemoth opened fire at me, and _that's_ when I wrenched the wheel to the right, skidding over in Theo's direction. Something I'd always wanted to do since I got my driver's license, but unfortunately that would've earned me a trip to the police station. I unlocked the doors and reached over, pushing open the passenger door as I slammed the brakes, bringing me screeching to a halt.

"Get in!" I screamed. "Get in! _Get in! GETTHEFUCKIN!_"

Theo threw open one of the back doors, diving in headfirst. He helped the officer get the wounded soldier into the backseat before pulling the door closed behind him. The Prospitian officer climbed into the passenger seat, and the moment he was inside I pounded the accelerator so hard I was surprised my foot didn't punch through the bottom of the car.

We sped the fuck away from that behemoth faster than it could pursue…but we weren't out of the woods, yet. A shadow came over us as we roared back out onto the mountain road. A Dersite airship had descended from the clouds, nose cannons ablaze.

This was an incredibly bad place to be trying to avoid an enemy airship. A narrow mountain road…sheer cliff face on one side, sheer _nothing_ on the other side. I couldn't help but wince every time I heard an energy slug strike the car – that was going to wreak havoc with the paint job. I remember the last time I got a scratch on Little Blue, Sis had gotten it repaired, but she then forced me to paint over the affected area with nothing but one of those tiny plastic paintbrushes. And she made me redo it again and again until it looked good. Getting new scratches and burns on the car… I mean, Sis wasn't exactly around to make me repaint it with a tiny paintbrush, but still… Old habits die hard.

Theo reached up and threw back the glass covering the gunner's nest, grabbing a small handle and sliding it back away into the roof. This allowed him to stand up in front of the back seat, sticking his upper body up through the circular opening, grabbing the handles of the turret mounted up top. He hit the triggers, and the turret roared to life, sending bolts of blinding yellow energy howling into the air.

The Prospitian officer riding shotgun with me seized the radio, shouting for the Scarred Marshal to respond to him. When he finally heard from Fort Terminus, he wasted no time in explaining the situation. "We encountered a bishop, sir!"

There was another pause. "_Say again, Iron Lead?_"

"A bishop!" The Officer clutched his chest, falling briefly into a fit of hoarse coughing before recovering and raising the radio back to his mouth. "We encountered a Dersite bishop! One of my men is wounded, but I have linked up with the Heroes-"

"Oh, _give me that,_" I growled, reaching over and snatching the mic without taking my eyes off the mountain road. "Hey! Hello, Mister Marshal Dude? Knight of Force, here! Listen, we're driving back down the road that leads to 34-W and we got some kinda Dersite aircraft trying to roast us, and we'd _really_ appreciate some kickass Prospitian Royal Air Force action before we all go up in flames!"

I'm not sure if the Scarred Marshal was stunned, or just straight-up ripshit _angry,_ but either way we didn't get a response until the Prospitian officer recovered the radio. "Apologies, sir," the officer glared at me. "We are currently being pursued by a Dersite gunship, requesting aerial assistance-"

"_The Knight summed it all up quite nicely, thank you,_" the Scarred Marshal's response was, his irritation as plainly obvious as the reason for his title. "_A fighter has been scrambled; estimated time of arrival, three minutes. Hang in there. Terminus Actual out_."

"Oh, _hang in there,_ real helpful," I muttered.

"Just shut up and keep driving!" Theo hollered down at me from the gunner's nest.

"Hey!" I shouted right back at him, sending us into a light swerve to avoid a hail of energyfire from the Dersite gunship. "Hey, do you see me critiquing your turret-shooting skills? No, you don't!"

Okay, now I have no idea how we managed to get off the mountain road in one piece. Luck of the Irish, maybe? I'm not Irish, but…well, come to think of it, I have no idea _what_ I am. My Sis was the only member of my family I've ever known, and she never spoke of our parents, or grandparents, or aunts and uncles—let alone our ancestry. But maybe there was some tiny bit of Irish luck involved in our escape from the mountain road, passed down genetically from ancestors I know nothing about.

Truth be told, we wouldn't have made it out at all were it not for the timely arrival of the Prospitian Royal Air Force in the form of a lone, fast-moving jet. It was made of golden metal, like most things Prospitian, and it glinted in the daylight as it screamed past overhead. In the brief moment I could spare to glance up at the sky, I saw a dark object drop from underneath the passing fighter jet. Then before I knew it, the dark object vanished, leaving only a thin trail of smoke behind it as it slammed into the pursuing Dersite gunship, reducing the purple aircraft to ashes and sunshine, and a few small fragments of debris.

"_Hostile bandit neutralized,_" the Prospitian fighter pilot reported back to Fort Terminus. I'm not sure whether or not we were supposed to pick up his transmission, because it was fuzzy and full of static, almost like a pirated radio station. "_Returning to base._"

"_Woo, yeah!_" Theo cheered, pumping one of his fists into the air like he was at a rave. "_Royal mothafuckin' Air Force is in the house!_"

"Stop it, Theo, you're the whitest black person I know!"

I watched the sad remnants of the Dersite gunship fall to the earth by glancing up at the rearview mirror every few seconds. After it fell from the sky, there really wasn't anything else of interest worth taking my attention off the road for. Theo withdrew from the gunner's nest, ducking back down into the car, shutting the glass hatch over his head.

The drive back to Fort Terminus was pretty uneventful. It was definitely _fast_… I mean, the soldier who'd nearly gotten blown up with his Humvee was bleeding out in my backseat. If I didn't get us all back to Fort Terminus sharpish, then the poor guy wouldn't make it. And I don't know… I kinda wanted him to survive. I'm not cool with having people dying in my backseat.

Within the hour, we'd made it back to Fort Terminus. The wounded Prospitian soldier was taken away by medics. The officer, Theo, and I climbed out of Little Blue. Theo captchalogued the car, storing it on one of those small, harmless-looking captchalogue cards. They had been the most reality-defying item ever developed by Skaianet—until Sburb, that is. I mean…just having the ability to store items on a card like that…it was impossible. It should've been impossible. I still had trouble wrapping my mind around them.

Theo held the captchalogue card containing Little Blue out to me, but I didn't take it. "You keep it for now," I said to my best friend. "You're here fulltime—I just dream here. You might need it sometime when I'm not asleep."

"I'll take good care of her," Theo grinned, stowing the captchalogue card inside his wallet sylladex.

"_Him,_" I corrected my friend.

"Huh?"

"_Him,_" I repeated myself. "Little Blue is a dude."

Soldiers emerged from the citadel of Fort Terminus to escort us inside. We accompanied them through the heavy double doors that formed the building's entrance, down the series of corridors and into the command center, where the Scarred Marshal coordinated the goings-on of his division, the Alabaster Rifles. The White King stood alongside the Scarred Marshal, and I could see a bit of an Abe Lincoln - Ulysses Grant dynamic going on there. The analogy isn't completely accurate, of course, because the White King took a much larger role in actual combat than Abe Lincoln did, but still. You get the idea.

When the guards escorted us into the command center, the White King and Scarred Marshal both gestured for us to accompany them into a small briefing room located behind all the frenzy and activity. The door snicked shut, and all the hubbub of the command center was suddenly suppressed, as if someone had hit the universal _mute_ button.

There was a small rectangular table in this room. There was also a counter that ran along one of the walls—an old-fashioned coffee machine rested in one corner, with containers of milk and sugar right next to it. The Scarred Marshal must really enjoy his coffee, judging by the dozens of light brown stains on the counter, evidence of years of past spills.

Theo and I sat with the Prospitian officer on one side of the table, the White King and Scarred Marshal sitting opposite to us. Without any further prompting, the officer gave a moderately-lengthed synopsis of what had happened after our final contact with Fort Terminus before the arrival of the Dersite whatever-the-fuck. _Bishop,_ I think the officer had said.

And when the officer was finished, the Scarred Marshal gave a single nod and dismissed him.

"Okay, I kept my mouth shut so the dude could give you the full details," I explained the reasons for my not interrupting the officer's briefing even once, "but I really can't go any longer without asking the question I should've been shouting at the top of my lungs for the past twenty minutes… What the everlasting _fuck_ was that giant fucking thing that almost roasted us, back there?"

The Scarred Marshal glared at me for a second, before completely ignoring me and turning to the White King. "With your permission, I would return to my post. If the Dersites are massing to attack, I will need to coordinate the defenses."

"Yes, yes, you may go," the White King traded a brief salute with the Marshal, allowing him to duck out of the room and escape from little old me. The King gave a quiet sigh and reached into one of his inner pockets, pulling out another pack of Cowboy Killers, lighting up and taking a long, blissful drag.

"You can smoke that in here?" Theo sounded a little surprised.

The White King gave a shrug. "It's good to be the King," he chuckled. He took another drag, exhaling towards the ceiling, before turning his full attention back to us. "Are either of you familiar with chess? It is a strategy game involving a variety of different-"

I held up a hand, briefly interrupting the King. "Yeah, we know what chess is."

"Ah! Wonderful! Well, I'm sure you have noticed by now, but everything that is happening on the Battlefield—this entire war…it is like a giant game of chess. Two Kings, two Queens…and in the old days, the soldiers were referred to as _pawns_."

Theo was starting to get it. "So then the bishop…that's like a supersoldier, 'cuz the bishops in chess are much more powerful than pawns."

"Exactly right," the White King nodded. "Long ago, when this war first broke out, before we unlocked the secrets of energy weapons, battles were determined by the behemoths. The bishops, the rooks, and the knights…terrifying in battle, they all were. But they were dangerous. Hard to control, at times…they were not fully sentient, you see. Animalistic. They were created in gene splicing facilities, bred and engineered to become the strongest creatures on the Battlefield. For some reason, my scientists were never able to perfect the behemoths quite as well as their Dersite counterparts…our behemoths had problems with obedience. I was forced to shut the entire program down, after several disasters."

"But then…" I frowned. "But then, that would unbalance the stalemate between you and the Black King, if he had behemoths and you didn't."

"Which is why I poured all my resources into improving my air force beforehand," the White King gave an approving nod, happy that we were catching on fast. "When I shut down our splicing facilities and decommissioned our behemoths, I ordered my air force to obliterate the Dersites' own splicing facilities, removing their ability to continue producing behemoths."

"And that created the Badlands," Theo finished for the King.

The White King took another drag of his cigarette, nodding solemnly. "The Badlands used to be quite beautiful… Reducing that region to its current state was regrettable, but necessary. However, the presence of a Dersite bishop at Outpost 34-W…well, it is quite disturbing, to say the least. The Dersites have obviously rebuilt their splicing facilities. The stalemate is slipping."

I fidgeted uncomfortably, thinking back to something the White Queen had said to me, an eternity ago on Prospit. _I have always known that my King is destined to lose this fight. The Black King will kill my husband, and he will begin the Reckoning._ Prospit was destined to lose the war with Derse—the White Queen had told me that herself… I wondered if the White King knew this, as well.

I decided to keep my mouth shut.

* * *

><p>I woke up feeling a bit more refreshed than I usually did after a good night's rest. Normally it didn't matter how long I slept—seven hours, nine hours, ten hours; I felt equally tired for all these lengths. I couldn't really tell you what made today so special.<p>

Well, that had certainly been an interesting dream… I crawled out from under my fur blanket, rubbing the blurriness out of my eyes. I looked over to the other side of the room, where Glimmering Scales slept, but there was no one there. Scales must have woken up super early.

Aztlán was…it was a very interesting city. It confuzzled me. It was built on a giant stone plateau out in the middle of the desert—the only real way to find it without dying of exposure in the sand dunes was to already know where it was…which then made me wonder how the clans of the Desert Fires had managed to find their way back to their ancestral homes, after the Great Liberation. That must've _really_ sucked…

The buildings were all made of some kind bricks, as well as sandstone. There were actually several freshwater springs that emerged at various points throughout the city from deep underground, which explained how the inhabitants of the city made their bricks…as well as, you know, how they didn't die of thirst. I really dunno how those springs could exist the way they did. My gut instinct was that it had something to do with the Force Aspect…probably the same forces that allowed this planet to have floating sky rivers.

The city itself was quite larger than I expected, home to members of all seven of the Desert clans. The population of the city numbered in the thousands, in sharp contrast to villages of the Western Fires, which were home to hundreds. The Desert Fires seemed to exist as eight cities, as opposed to a smattering of different villages for each different clan.

In some places of the city, the consorts had managed to introduce soil and plantlife, breaking the whole…sand, sand, more sand pattern. Many of the larger streets even had palm trees growing along either side, irrigated by small canal-like troughs of water that flowed along the paths of the roads. There were also a few major canals that flowed through the city, fed by the freshwater springs, allowing the inhabitants of Aztlán to get their water.

I pulled on my jeans and debated whether or not I should bother with my shirt. It got pretty hot during the day, and the wind felt really good against bare skin…but I ended up putting my shirt on, anyway. I can't just stroll down the streets shirtless—even I'm not that much of a douche. And besides, my shirt was more rips and tears than actual _shirt, _at this point. It occurred to me that I hadn't changed clothes or even showered since before all this shit started happening…a month ago.

Fuck, I smelled _terrible_. My dream self never seemed to suffer from body odor, but I wasn't so lucky. I was able to ignore it most of the time, but when I started thinking about it…whew! It was almost unbearable! It didn't seem to bother my consorts, though. I've never actually seen any of my consorts bathing—maybe they didn't bathe like we did. Snakes shed their skin, don't they? I think that's what they did…

Bleh, now I'm going off on one of my tangents, again…time to reel it back in.

I stepped outside, relishing the feel of the smooth stones that made up the streets of Aztlán under my feet – the gentle, radiating heat already contained in the flagstones from the sunlight. I've noted while dreaming how very different the light of Skaia is compared to normal sunlight, how it is gentle on the eyes and actually sends a calm, soothing feeling through my body. Of course, that's while I was on Prospit, right where Skaia's light was the strongest. It didn't have the same effect out here, on my planet…but I could kind of feel something similar to that soothing feeling in my feet, from the flagstones, warmed by that very same light. Yeah, this was probably the one place on my planet where it didn't rain twenty-four/seven.

I walked down the street, heading towards the center of the city. No matter where I stood in Aztlán, I could always see the Skaian Temple that stood in the center of the city. That was that big-ass Aztec-style pyramid that I was nearly sacrificed on yesterday, in case you were confused.

_Yesterday_. Still kinda hard to believe I'd only just arrived here yesterday morning…after my fuck of a journey through time with Anna, it felt like I'd been with the Desert Fires for an eternity. I wasn't quite sure what to think of them, to be honest. The clans of the Western Fires seemed to be the most adept with using the Force Aspect, yet the clans of the Desert Fires definitely seemed to be much more militaristic. Much more of a warrior culture, if that makes sense.

There were no guards or anything in this city. Most of the inhabitants _were_ warriors in one way or another. If the city was ever attacked, the entire population would be the city's defense. The people I passed on the streets weren't standing guard, or anything. They were simply going about their daily lives – gathering water, heading to the markets…whatever it was that these consorts did every day. They stared at me as I walked past, whispering to one another. At least they weren't trying to crowd me, or anything, like the Prospitians on the Golden Moon would.

I walked at my own pace, enjoying the city as it slowly woke up. Eventually, I found myself walking up the steps of the Skaian Temple, climbing to the top of the great square pyramid. I probably would have been out of breath if I'd climbed to the Temple a month ago, before all this crap started happening. But since my arrival in this strange dimension, I've been doing quite a bit of physical activity. No, my overall appearance hadn't really changed like Theo's did—minus the sideburns, which I hadn't quite gotten around to shaving off—but there was definitely a difference in my endurance.

I lingered at the top of the steps for a few moments, looking out over the city and into the red sand dunes beyond. In the far distance, I could just barely make out the twisting, turning shape of a sky river flowing across the horizon. It was probably the only sky river that flowed over the desert.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the gentle breeze cool me down before turning round and wandering into the temple. I headed past the bronze brazier where the council fire burned during…well, events that required a council fire. I ambled over to the south wall, which was the only solid wall in the temple—the eastern, northern, and western walls comprised of columns that stretched from ceiling to floor. That way, the light of Skaia was always shining into the temple—the desert was in the southern hemisphere of the Land of Rain and Rivers, so Skaia would never shine into the temple from the south.

The wall was covered in pictures. Not inscriptions or any kind of writing—the written form of my consorts' language had been lost during Hyperion's conquest. Instead, there were thousands of small symbols, pictographs, mural-like depictions of what I could only assume were historical events pertaining to the Desert Fires. But I paid them no mind. I only paid attention to the largest and most recent symbol on the southern wall.

Three semi-circular arcs sprouting from a common point, each one larger than the one below it. Together, they formed a symbol resembling a crude crashing wave. Yeah, it was the symbol of the Force Aspect. _My_ symbol. Matlal, the shaman who dwelled in this temple, had drawn that symbol on the wall after he 'read' me, or whatever. I hadn't gotten the chance to see it at first because Anna had dropped by and yanked me three or four centuries into my planet's past.

But when I came back… When I came back, there had been a lot of commotion about Anna's unexplained arrival and subsequent disappearance…but the main reason why everyone was freaking the fuck out was because of Xolotl. He had been in his prime, the First Warrior of Aztlán, maybe the equivalent of a man in his late twenties, early thirties. And when Anna returned him, he was middle aged. He had lived a lifetime in captivity, in the past…had a wife, a son…

But to the consorts of the present day, he had been gone for less than a minute. Having someone disappear and then return significantly aged like that… I really don't know how I could have talked my way out of that one. But I didn't have to, because Matlal finished drawing my symbol on the wall, which was more or less all the confirmation the leaders of the Desert Fires needed to recognize me as the Knight. He'd read me and recognized me as a Hero of Force.

So… Yay for that. If Anna hadn't shown up and fucked my day up, it would have been the easiest '_I'm the Knight of Force_' sales pitch ever. All I had to do was let an old dude dance around me and taste my blood, draw a picture on the wall, and I was golden. No fucking sword ladders.

"I thought you were dead," a familiar voice spoke from behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know that it was Xolotl who had spoken. "Your friend wass killed, and I never ssaw you again. Then she bringss me back…and here you are."

I turned to face the white-scaled consort, trying not to fidget. "I know what you went through," I started to say, but I instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry about your family."

"Really?" Xolotl blinked once, his tongue flitting out and tasting the air. "You have a dead wife and sson? You know how that feelss?"

"I said I knew what you went through, not that I knew how it felt," I sighed, really not in the mood to talk to this guy. Yeah, I felt like shit for everything that had happened to him…not to mention my role in ensuring the death of his family. But it's not like I had a choice…

For a few moments, I was deathly afraid Xolotl would continue questioning me. I had good reason for doing what I did, back in the quarries…but something told me Xolotl would not accept any kind of explanation I had to offer. Doomed timelines, stable timeloops, maintaining the alpha timeline, fulfilling destiny…none of that would mean shit to him in front of a dead family. Thankfully, he didn't ask me anything else, though I would never be sure if he ever had any suspicions of how I knew about his family. That hadn't been smart of me.

"Sso, I ssuppose I wass the White Warrior," Xolotl changed tack, actually looking for some common ground between the two of us. "I thought thiss wass true, in the beginning…then I believed I wass wrong, right up until the end. I do not feel like a figure of legend…do you feel any different?"

"Most figures of legend are just normal people who can do cool shit," I shrugged. "Only reason they're considered legendary is 'cuz people build them up and tell stories about them for years and years."

"When you claimed to be the Knight, I knew you were lying. I was sso certain of it…" Xolotl turned away, slithering out of the temple. I followed him outside. "I was sso certain of it… But then, if ssomeone had told me that I wass the White Warrior, I would have been equally certain of their disshonessty. You are the Knight, without a doubt."

"Ah. Well, that's good," I ended up having to clear my throat awkwardly, still wanting nothing more than to be at least a dozen miles away. "You understand that you had to be brought back in time, don't you?" I asked. "If that hadn't happened, the White Warrior never would've existed…and your people would still be slaves."

"Do not try to make jusstification for my wife and sson," Xolotl hissed, nearly baring his fangs at me. "There iss only one thing that I will accept as proper recompensse for their deathss – Hyperion'ss head on a sstake. And sso, to thiss end, I will help you kill the Denizen, sstarting by raissing my people to fight."

"Glad we're on the same page," I nodded. "And no hard feelings for the whole, you know…_sacrificing me_ thing."

I remained on top of the pyramid, patiently waiting for the arrival of the chiefs of the seven clans. Though I hadn't timed my arrival in Aztlán, I'd been lucky that I made it here when the seven clan chiefs were meeting in the City-In-The-Center, which really saved me the trouble of having to travel to each of the seven cities to convince the individual clans that I was the Knight.

A council had been called for this morning, which was why I'd come to the temple in the first place. Within half an hour, the seven clan chiefs and the elders ascended the steps and took their places around the council fire, which was lit by an attendant. Xolotl, who seemed to have retained his position as First Warrior despite his increase in age, stood behind and to the left of the elders. Last to arrive was Scales, who quietly slipped inside after the council fire was lit, slithering up next to me. We exchanged furtive nods.

"Ready to leave?" I asked the red-scaled consort.

Scales gave a quiet hiss. "I do not like these desert folk," he murmured. "Too narrow-minded. I am certainly ready to leave thiss place."

I decided not to point out how funny I found it that Scales would dislike someone for being narrow-minded. It was quite the pot calling the proverbial tribe of kettles black. But I could somewhat sympathize – I personally much preferred living with the Treefolk clans of the Western Fires. Aztlán was a pretty cool place, and all, but I really wasn't a desert person. Too hot, too dry…too full of people who were ready to sacrifice me just a day ago.

Theo was right; my consorts _were_ assholes. The Western Fires made me climb a sword ladder, the Desert Fires nearly sacrificed me in front of their temple… I could only imagine what the Northern Fires had in store for me.

This council fire did not seem to be quite so formal as most usually were. The elders of Aztlán conferred with the clan chiefs and their retainers for a few moments before turning their attention to me and Scales.

"I believe I sspeak for everyone assembled here when I ssay that today wass likely the mosst…eventful day in our livess," the slate gray-scaled elder in the middle opened with. "We have made preparationss over the passt day for you to continue your journey, Knight."

"Oh, good!" I nodded and smiled, playing the grateful figure of legend. "Preparations are good. I like preparations."

"Word will be ssent to the sseven citiess," the slate-scaled elder continued. "It will take uss ssome time to mobilize our sstrength… The clanss have not been united in thiss way ssince the time of the Great Liberation."

"Hyperion and the Dark Oness ensslaved uss for centuriess," the yellowish gray-scaled elder on the far left continued. "We will have our vengeance."

"Vengeance is good, too."

"_Shut your mouth, I beg you,_" Scales whispered to me under his breath, clearly tired of hearing me be a smartass. Yeah, maybe I was pushing the envelope a bit further than necessary… I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to do it, I've just been through a lot over the past twenty-four hours.

"You will go to the easstern gate of our city," the slate-scaled elder instructed us. "There, we have a canoe waiting for you. It will take you to the North."

"A…canoe?" I arched an eyebrow, unsure of whether or not I'd heard the elder correctly. "How are we gonna reach the North with a canoe?"

The slate-scaled elder did not give much of an expression in response, but I could've sworn I saw a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You will travel easst of here and ride the ssky river."


	30. IV Chapter 30: Jaunt Through the Sky

Chapter Thirty: Jaunt Through the Sky

Oh my god, I'm gonna get to ride a sky river. I felt like a little kid visiting a water park for the first time…only instead of a lame waterslide, I got to ride a river. That flowed through the fucking _sky_. I love my life, right now.

Scales and I had left Aztlán around mid-morning—it was nearly evening, at this point. As the elders had said, two warriors were waiting for us at the eastern entrance to the desert capital, waiting with a canoe and some water supplies. Unfortunately, the two warriors would not be accompanying us, so Scales and I had to carry the small wooden boat by ourselves. And so we set off into the sand dunes, carrying the canoe with our collective Vis.

Carrying objects with my Aspect wasn't necessarily effortless… The larger the object, the more energy it expended to remain aloft. When I first started unlocking the secrets of my Aspect, the idea of lifting something like the canoe would never have even crossed my mind. Before I went on my journey through time with Anna, I probably could've done it…but I wouldn't have been able to carry it very far. Without getting a headache and nosebleed.

My echeladder sprang to mind, the imaginary image of a ladder that appeared to me every time I came closer to mastering my Aspect. Before, over three-quarters of my echeladder rungs blazed with color and light. Learning how to use my Aspect to create fire had been a giant step towards mastering Force. And my little jaunt through time with Anna…I hadn't really noticed anything different, but my echeladder was now completely alight, save for the top two or three rungs.

I hadn't really learned anything new about my Aspect during my time with Anna, but I'd gradually come to understand that I also gained power when I completed integral parts of my quest. And I could only assume that ensuring Xolotl became the White Warrior, and subsequently ensuring the birth of the Great Liberation of the enslaved desert clans, was a giant part of my quest. I wondered if I'd feel any different when I finally reached the top of the ladder.

But the point was that, after my time spent in the past with Anna, carrying the canoe with Scales felt super easy. I wondered if climbing the echeladder was what made me stronger, or if getting stronger was what made me climb the echeladder. Very chicken and egg, if you ask me.

But enough of that. Less echeladder talk, more sky river talk.

"You know, we've gone all the way from the Knightswood to the Sands, and we _walked_ the entire way," I pointed out to Scales as we crested what felt like the thousandth sand dune we'd climbed since leaving Aztlán behind. "Why don't you guys use the sky rivers for transportation?"

"We do not know where they all lead," Scales admitted. "We do not make mapss. It ssurprisess me that the Desert Fires know where _thiss_ river leadss… Ssave for the Forbidden River, it iss not known where any of the riverss will take you. Perhapss the desert clanss have been exploring, over the yearss…"

"And where does the Forbidden River go?" I asked.

"It ssupposedly leads to Hyperion'ss Palace, deep within the Old One's Garden," Scales reminded me. "I have told you thiss, already."

"Slipped my mind," I grunted, trying not to roll my eyes. "I guess that's a good reason for it to be forbidden, though. Wouldn't wanna end up inner-tubing past Hyperion's palace by accident."

"What iss _inner-tubing?_"

"Don't worry about it."

We continued making our way across the red-orange sand dunes. The heat was getting close to unbearable, and I had to stop myself from completely chugging all the waterskins my consorts had given me. If I didn't have to keep lugging this canoe along with us, I probably wouldn't have been getting so thirsty. We slogged onwards, doing our level best to ignore the heat of the desert, the quiet whispering sigh of the flowing sky river always in the background, growing louder and louder. It wasn't until the daylight started to fade into evening that Scales and I finally reached the sky river.

It was weird, standing underneath one of the sky rivers… I almost expected the noise to be like standing next to a waterfall, but it was really much quieter than that. I guess it really shouldn't have surprised me—yeah, maybe it was flowing through the sky, but it wasn't moving any faster or slower than a normal river. Normal rivers didn't roar, unless there were rapids…and sky rivers don't have rapids, for obvious reasons. The water was shallowest at the edges of the river and deepest in the center, giving the bottom of the sky river a curved shape. The water was bright and clear at the edges and a deep, opaque blue in the middle, showing off the changes in depth.

"How do we get up there?" Scales asked.

I gave him an odd look. For people whose lives revolve around their use of the Force Aspect, a lot of my consorts really didn't know how to use it to its full potential. I let the canoe thud down to the sand, the oars rattling around in the bottom. "Climb in," I stepped into the rear of the canoe, gesturing for Scales to do likewise. "We'll raise ourselves."

"Levitation?" Scales sounded intrigued.

"It's really not all that hard," I shrugged, taking a few deep breaths, preparing myself. "It's just like lifting any other object…only this time, we happen to be _on_ said object. Levitating your own body, though; that's where it gets tricky. Hard as balls to keep yourself from spiraling off all over the place every time you try to move."

Scales and I both lifted the canoe at the same time with our collective Vis, sending the small wooden boat on a gentle upward rise. I kept my breathing steady as the sand dunes surrounding us gradually fell away. The sky river was at a low point, here; sixty feet off the ground, maybe seventy. As it flowed north, however, I could see that it seemed to gain altitude until it vanished into the clouds. I could only hope it took us where we needed to go.

I think it took us maybe forty, fifty seconds to raise our canoe up to the level of the sky river…but it felt like a goddamn hour. Eventually, though, we were rising up over the river. Scales and I nudged the canoe over the moving water. I resisted the urge to let us just splash down onto the surface of the sky river—that probably would've ended badly—and instead lowered us gently down onto the water. The current of the river snatched us even before Scales and I released our hold on the canoe. Immediately, the boat started to spin out of control.

I scrambled to grab one of the oars at the bottom of the boat, seizing the short paddle and plunging it over the side into the water. I hauled the paddle against the current, executing several powerful backstrokes to stop us from spinning, forcing us back into a relatively straight line. We started to turn to the other side, then, after my efforts to keep us straight…but Scales picked up his own oar and started paddling on the other side of the canoe, stabilizing us.

After those first few harrowing seconds of _fuuuck,_ we established a rhythm and began gliding along smoothly. Considering the fact that we were canoeing down a river that flowed across the sky, over a hundred feet up in the air…it was kind of uneventful. I've done my fair share of canoeing, and this really wasn't very different. I mean, other than the added risk of not wanting to stray too close to the edges of the river, where the depth of the water was very shallow. If the canoe broke through the bottom of the sky river…well, I didn't want to think about that.

I let Scales make the more powerful strokes. He was sitting in the front of the canoe—that was where the bulk of a canoe's propulsion was supposed to come from. The job of the person in the back was to steer. And so while I paddled along with Scales, I focused mainly on keeping us from falling off the edge of the river…which really wasn't all that difficult—this river was pretty wide.

If I hadn't been living with telekinetic cobras for the past month, the sight of Scales paddling might have unnerved me. From my perspective, the red-scaled consort didn't seem to be moving all that much, while his oar floated in the air to his right, seemingly paddling all by itself. The only evidence that he was using his Vis to manipulate the oar was a faint amber glow that shone about the edges. The only reason I could see it was because the daylight had already faded, for the most part.

Normally, it was nearly impossible to see a glow like that, at all. The stronger the Vis, the brighter the glow, which meant that Scales's control over the Force Aspect was pretty damn strong.

We canoed down the river until the daylight completely vanished, ushering in nightfall. It was not necessarily dark, though. After a couple hours, Scales and I found ourselves canoeing underneath the rainclouds. I instinctively used my Aspect to redirect the rain before it actually hit me, but I could hear all the raindrops quietly splashing into the surface of the river, mottling the water with millions of tiny droplets and ripples.

The rainclouds themselves shined with a muted violet glow. I've described this in the past, but that was when I was down on the ground. The light from the rainclouds, visible only at night, wasn't as bright as the daylight, but was quite a bit brighter than moonlight. And when we were up this close to the clouds…the purple light was even stronger. I had no problem seeing where we were going. And after another hour or so, the river changed its incline and rose up through the clouds.

We actually paddled _through_ the rainclouds for a long while. Sometimes, the river would climb up through the clouds, and I'd be able to see the black night sky beyond. There were no stars, here, so the night sky was nothing more than a dark void. There was only one visible object in the sky; a lone point of light that did not flicker like a star should. It was a planet—Cruz's planet, or Cass's. I had no way to be sure which. As for Skaia, Prospit, the other planets…well, it was nighttime, right now. The part of my planet which I was on right now was facing _away_ from everything else.

Scales and I didn't speak for the longest time. We paddled in relative silence, save for the occasional cough or sneeze. Yes, snakes can sneeze. At least, these ones can.

"So, uh… What can I expect from the Northern Fires?" I decided to break the silence with something that could actually yield useful, relevant, and helpful answers. Potentially. "I mean, I've kinda gotten off on the wrong foot with everyone else, and I'd really appreciate it if the North dudes didn't try to kill me or make me do something that'll likely result in me getting badly maimed. I feel like that's really not too much to ask!"

"They are the largesst of the three peopless," Scales's response was. "Nothing particularly sspecial about them, if you assk me. They ussed to live in the Golden Grasses until the time of the Cataclysm, when they migrated to the hillss and mountainss to the north, following the ssurviving Lifebeasst herds."

"Okay, next question," I moved on to address something that had been on my mind for a while. "What the hell is this cataclysm that everyone keeps talking about?"

"You would have to assk an elder for the full Story on the matter," Scales replied. "It happened ten thoussand yearss ago, when the Old One walked among uss. A darkness desscended over uss, and the very light of Great Sky Flame wass ssnuffed out."

"A darkness?" I frowned, trying to understand. "Was it clouds?"

Scales shook his head. "No, the sskiess were unchanged. The Great Sky Flame itself wass ssmothered, and we had only our fire to light our darkness. It wass called the Long Night of Sorrows, and the Story tellss uss that it lassted for over a month. Fire fell from the ssky, and the Golden Grasses were ravaged, which forced the People of the Plains to move to the north, eventually becoming the clanss of the Northern Fires. The Old One left uss and found a way to banish the darkness, but the cosst wass her life. She ssacrificed hersself to ssave uss all."

"Hell of a girl," I kept myself from making any outward show of my impatience. I mean, it was fascinating what he was saying, but it really wasn't giving me any answers. Almost like asking someone for a food recipe, only to have them describe in vivid detail what it tastes like. Cool stuff, but not exactly helpful. "But what actually _caused_ the darkness? What could possibly cause Skaia to go black?"

"The Long Night of Sorrows wass but a ssmall part of the greater Cataclysm, which affected everything touched by the Great Sky Flame's light," Scales went on to explain. "We never knew what darkened the Great Sky Flame. We never knew why the Old One had to give her life. Ssuch thingss were beyond our undersstanding at the time. The light of the Great Sky Flame wass renewed, but the Old One was losst."

"Okay, so then how do you know the Old One actually sacrificed herself when you say she _left?_" I asked next, pointing out a potential flaw in the red-scaled consort's story. "Sounds to me like a classic case of 'disappeared, never to be seen again', rather than all-out self-sacrifice."

"Sselect memberss of the three Peoples went with the Old One when she left uss," Scales replied. "We called them the Witnesses. They returned to uss. The Old One did not. They proclaimed that the Old One wass dead, that she ssacrificed hersself to ssave uss all. They refused to sspeeak any further about what happened, and ssome of them even committed ssuicide in their grief."

"Ah. Well, uh… Okay," I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Still, it became clear that Scales wouldn't be able to give me anymore answers. I kinda felt bad—I remember telling Gwen a long while ago I'd try and talk to my consorts about the Cataclysm, but…well, I hadn't really gotten around to it. I honestly haven't been maintaining communication with the others very much, since my dream self left Prospit. I'd have to fix that, soon. "For not knowing very much about this shit, you sure had a lot to say."

Scales glanced back at me, fixing me with his emerald-eyed stare. "The Story of the Long Night, as told by the elderss, iss over an hour long. You got the paraphrased version."

"Oh, I like paraphrased! Paraphrased is good."

We continued to paddle up the sky river in silence for a little bit, watching all around us as we passed through the violet rainclouds. It was pretty weird, because the clouds glowed with that violet light…and so when we passed through them, that light was sort of everywhere. It was weird, and pretty cool.

"So, be honest…you really think I'm ready to fight Hyperion?" I asked, not exactly wanting to spend the entire night paddling in silence.

"I do not know," Scales replied, certainly not wasting any energy on sugarcoating. "The Denizen conquered a world. Do you think you could conquer a world?"

"…unlikely."

"That'ss what I thought. Sstill…" Scales murmured. "You are the Knight. And I have a feeling that defeating Hyperion may be more complicated than ssimple combat."

"What makes you say that?"

"The Old One prophessied that one day the Knight would come and deliver uss…and here you are," Scales's neck hoods flared for a second, the cobra equivalent of a shrug. "Sso if you are no match for Hyperion in combat when we march on his palace, then there musst be ssomething we are missing, because the Old One wass not known for making incorrect predictionss."

I decided not to think about that. I would keep honing my Aspect with Scales as we traveled through the north, and soon I would reach the top of my echeladder. I don't know if I'll really feel any different when I master Force…but the difference would have to be critical. If I couldn't take out Hyperion now, surely I'd be able to then…

But yeah. Not thinking about that, anymore. That's just a one-way ticket to Stress City.

I got the feeling that we were actually moving a lot faster than the speed at which Scales and I were paddling. I mean, we were certainly propelling ourselves along alright with the oars, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the canoe was being drawn along the current by some other, subtle force. It was impossible to really tell, however, because of the dark.

Scales was the one to break the silence, this time.

"Are you going to explain what happened to uss—Xolotl and I?" Glimmering Scales asked. It occurred to me that while I'd spent many hours, maybe even close to a day with Anna as she pulled me through time…Scales had spent around three months in the labor camp. He probably had a shit-ton of questions. "Why did you leave uss in that place to rot?"

"I did not leave you," I honestly didn't know where I should even begin trying to explain myself. "Uh, okay, how can I explain this… Look, there are seven others out there who are like me. The one dressed in red who brought us to the labor camp…she is a Hero like me, only on another world. And instead of having a Vis, she is able to manipulate time itself. After we arrived at the labor camp, she took me forward in time, and we observed key events from our arrival until Xolotl's uprising…you have to believe me, there was nothing I could do to get you out. I think…I think it had to happen that way, though."

Scales seemed to be interested, but wasn't quite willing to give me the satisfaction of noticing it in his tone or body language. "Nearly thirty people died in that sso-called _uprising,_" Scales muttered. "That wass when the female in red retrieved me and brought me back to Aztlán. Did you watch them die and do nothing?"

"Yes," I answered, deciding not to lie. "I watched a lot of people die. I stood invisible on the walls of the Dersite compound while you tried to storm the place, and I watched you and your friends get slaughtered."

"But why? Why did it have to happen that way?"

"Because that uprising would have failed no matter what," I went on to explain exactly what had happened to Xolotl after Anna had sent Scales back to the present. The white-scaled consort's imprisonment, his family…the incident in the quarries…and finally, Xolotl's successful insurgency against the Overseer and his guards. The somewhat paraphrased version, of course.

"You were the voice of reason to Xolotl during the failed uprising," I finished. "The only reason he was able to pull it off the second time was because he learned from your advice that he'd previously ignored…and the only reason you were the one advising him to be more patient during the failed uprising was because _you_ had to learn to be patient while you were teaching me to use my Aspect—don't you see? Everything is connected. And when I think about it, there's probably a good reason why the liberation of the Desert Fires had to happen all those centuries ago, instead of today."

"What, you think it wass all planned by ssome mysstical force?" Scales sounded doubtful. I knew trolling when I heard it.

"Planned? Maybe not," I shrugged. "But everything _is_ supposed to happen a certain way. Skaia knows its own fate—that's how it can show us the future, that's how the Old One was able to make her predictions…and nothing can change it." It was kind of challenging, trying to explain this. I mean, Scales wouldn't be able to understand the concept of doomed timelines—it would mean nothing to him. I didn't know how to explain the idea that everything would go to shit if the alpha timeline wasn't maintained without going into ideas and concepts that _I_ still barely understood.

I was just glad I wasn't time traveling, anymore. Can't fuck quite so much shit up if you don't time travel.

By the time the daylight started to return, the muscles in my shoulders and upper back were sort of burning. I enjoyed canoeing, but I definitely wasn't an Olympic athlete. Then again, do the Olympics even do canoeing…? Fuck it. Don't know, don't care. Olympics got blown up by the meteors, along with all the rest...

Scales and I settled into a silence _yet again,_ quietly continuing to propel ourselves further and further north. The sky river flowed through the clouds for a long while, so we didn't actually get to see the daylight return. All we could notice was the violet glow of the rainclouds slowly lessen while the external daylight increased, until they no longer shined and _everything_ started to grow bright. Then the sky river dipped back down below the rainclouds…and I was surprised to find us soaring over a landscape of rolling hills and rocky steppes, with small clumps of mountains scattered about the region.

We weren't in the desert, anymore.

Now that it was morning, I was able to notice how fast the land below was speeding past. I mean, it's not like we were on a jumbo jet, or anything…but we were definitely moving faster than a canoe should be able to move.

"The river hass a Vis of itss own," Scales explained to me, somehow knowing exactly what was on my mind. "Even before the riverss were ssundered from the riverbedss, they had a Vis of their own. The elderss ssay it would be possible to travel from the Knightswood to the Northern Hills in a ssingle day. I thought it impossible, though I wass obvioussly wrong…"

"So where do we get off?" I asked the red-scaled cobra. "Do the Northern Fires have cities?"

"The northern clanss dwell in villagess, like my people," Scales answered me. "The Northern Fires have a high council, however, unlike uss. They dwell in the High Council Fire, which iss a common, central ssettlement shared by memberss of all the northern clanss, much like Aztlán wass to the desert clanss, though to call it a city would be a sstretch. The desert clanss were the only people ever to build proper citiess."

Scales had no idea where we should get off the river. He'd never been to the northern regions in his life—the western clans of the Treefolk rarely left their forests, and when they did it was usually only to trek to the Forbidden River for a Trial of Legends. The three tribes really didn't seem to have interacted with each other very much, recently.

Ultimately, we decided to get off the sky river when it dipped down to an altitude of about fifty or so feet. This was the only time it'd gone so close to the ground since we'd first gotten _onto_ the river, back in the desert east of Aztlán. We probably wouldn't get another chance like this, and I really wasn't in the mood to help lower us through several hundred to several thousand feet of empty, open sky.

When we reached the lowest point in the sky river's downward arc, Scales and I both took deep breaths and used our Vis to lift the canoe off the surface of the water. We brought ourselves over the edge of the sky river and slowly lowered ourselves downward towards the ground. It didn't feel nearly as long lowering ourselves as it did when we levitated the canoe up into the river. Maybe we were just used to it, maybe we were both just anxious to get ourselves back onto solid ground.

The terrain here was almost similar to the Golden Grasses. There were hills, ridges, valleys, flowers, tall grass, and the like… The differences were that the grass was a much more conventional green color, rather than the golden yellow of the savanna. The hills were much more frequent and steeper, there were small ranges of mountains that dominated the local horizon. There were also trees—normal trees, not the giant Baobab trees of the Golden Grasses, mind.

"I'm not sure we thought this through very well," I remarked to Scales after we'd been hoofing it through the hills for an hour or two, finally stopping in a small meadow for a quick breather. "Get a canoe, check. Paddle up a trippy sky river to the north, check. Find the fucking Northern Fires…yeah. You see the problem? Where do these guys live?"

"I… I am not quite sure," Scales answered hesitantly. "My besst guess would be to make for the mountainss in—_hsss!_" The red-scaled consort broke off in a startled hiss upon being suddenly interrupted by a not-so-distant growl.

I had my Roman Lightbowie out of my sylladex and in my grip within half a second. I'd heard that growl, too, and it brought back some uncomfortable memories. "What direction did that come from?" I whispered, my eyes flitting from hill to hill, trying to pinpoint the source of the growl.

"That way," Scales gestured off to the left with his head, his forked tongue flitting in and out of his mouth, anxiously tasting the air. "It came from-"

Another growl, coming from a different direction. Behind us. Rustling. As I turned towards the sound of the second growl, I became aware of many more noises coming from _all_ directions, all at varying distances…all clearly heading our way.

"Top of the hill," Scales hissed, drawing his sword from the sheath strapped to his back, making for the nearest hilltop. "_Now._"

I certainly wasn't gonna argue. Scales and I sprinted across the meadow, trampling the tall grass and flowers. The rain was light, today, so the ground was only slightly muddy. The earth of my planet seemed to be incredibly resilient to water, which I supposed was good considering one of the fundamental aspects of this place was rain. Rain and rivers. It occurred to me, then, the irony of having a Hero capable of pyrokinesis dwell on a planet so heavily influenced by water.

Then I was yanked back to reality when Scales and I reached the trees at the edge of the meadow. The howls and growling grew louder. Scales and I charged up the hillside, pounding through the dirt and shrubbery—well, I was the only one doing the pounding; Scales was doing his awesome sidewinder flying-across-the-earth thing. We ran like the hounds of fucking Baskerville were on our heels.

There was a giant oak tree at the top of the hill. I briefly considered climbing it, but there wasn't enough time. When Scales and I reached the top of the hill, we were able to stop and catch our breath. Glancing around, we could see dark shapes emerging from the trees and bushes, lumbering up the hill towards us. Imps and ogres.

Underlings. And a _lot_ of them. Boy, I'd missed these guys.

I took a deep breath, tightening my grip on my Bowie.

"_Son of a bitch…_"


	31. IV Chapter 31: The Northern Fires

Chapter Thirty-One: The Northern Fires

The first underling to attack me was an imp. I hadn't tangled with these guys since the bloodbath at the Forbidden River, the day after I'd climbed the Knight's Ladder. The imp swiped at me with its claws, but I sidestepped the blow like a matador dodging a charging bull, taking off the imp's head with an almost lazy undercut.

Normally, my Bowie wouldn't have been enough to fully decapitate a creature, but it had gained extra length and weight when I'd alchemized it with a Roman gladius. It was quite capable of decapitation, in its enhanced state. The headless imp's body crumpled to the ground and dissolved into a mound of grist.

A second imp, maybe hoping to avenge the death of its departed friend, leaped over the grist mound, claws outstretched. I didn't sidestep this one. Instead, I simply pointed my Bowie forward towards the leaping imp. The smaller underling realized its mistake, but it was too late. Already flying through the air towards me, it had time only to let out a piercing screech before it landed right on my knife. I was then peppered by the hail of grist which its body transmuted into, still carried by the momentum of the dead imp's leap.

As I dealt with the onslaught of imps, I could see Scales fighting off his own attackers. He sliced through the underlings with his sword, knocked them down the hill with his Vis. At times, he would even score kills with his tail—breaking necks, or shattering skulls with well-placed lashes. I edged my way over to Scales until the two of us were fighting almost back to back, under the giant oak tree.

The ogres were a bit harder to deal with. I remember back on Day One, when I'd fought my way up to the top of my house-tower, only to have to kill two ogres before I could reach my first gate. They'd been like video game bosses, then, before I really knew how to use my Aspect. Hell, that was before I knew what my Aspect even _was_. I'd gotten completely wrecked by those ogres, and then tossed off the top of my house, plummeting over a hundred feet down to my yard below. A month ago, a group of this many ogres would have completely clobbered me…but this wasn't a month ago. I focused on my Aspect and flashed the ogre a wide grin as it bore down on me. I think the creature may have hesitated slightly, in that brief moment before its life ended. It wasn't used to its victims smiling at it. Then I clenched my hand into a fist, ignoring the sickening _crunch_ as the ogre's neck snapped.

Three more ogres attacked me after that in quick succession. I used my Aspect on the first, crushing its windpipe before it even made it within five feet of me. The second swung its fists at me, aiming lower than its predecessor. I tried to duck like last time, but I wasn't able to get low enough, and one of the ogre's fists lightly clocked me over the top of my head.

I staggered, nearly falling over to the side. Getting hit by an ogre like that, even at partial strength, wasn't something anyone could just shrug off. I blinked stars out of my eyes as I tightened my grip on my Bowie and used its hilt to strike the ogre in the jaw with all my strength, sending blood and bits of teeth spraying through the air. The ogre roared in pain, but I snapped its neck before it could scream for too long.

Then I got bum-rushed by ogre number four. It charged up the hill and sprinted right into me as I was finishing off the third ogre, slamming me right into the trunk of the giant oak tree. I saw stars again and had the wind smashed out of me. I don't know if you've ever been body-slammed into a tree by an ogre, before, but in case you haven't… Well, it fucking _hurts_.

I plunged my oversized knife into the ogre's throat. It howled in agony, but I didn't give it the chance to scream a second time. I yanked the knife free and shoved it up into the ogre's chin, up through its brain. The ogre's body transmuted into grist, and I fell free from the tree trunk, gasping for breath.

I didn't really have time to take a break, though, because another handful of imps jumped me almost as soon as the last ogre died.

I was starting to get pissed, now, and I fought ten times better when I was angry. More ogres came up behind the imps, forcing Scales and I up against the tree, wildly beating off anything that swiped at us. I cut down one imp after the other, but eventually one of them got past my guard and raked its claws across my shoulder, shredding even more of my shirt and sending pain lancing through my chest.

That did it. That sent me over the edge. I was so _not_ in the mood for this bullshit. I haven't come this far just to get taken down by a pack of fucking dumb-shit underlings. I dropped my Bowie, causing it to vanish back into my sylladex. Flames flared up around my fists. I could feel the heat, but my skin would not burn. Fueled by my anger, I exerted more control over the fire, generating more energy, exciting more particles…before I knew it, imps were sprinting at me and I was roasting the little shits alive. Ogres would swing at me, and I would burn through their heads or their chests. Sometimes if I hit them with a big enough fireball, they simply shattered into grist, dying instantly.

I lost track of time for a few minutes. Lots of neck-snapping, lots of fire, teeth…claws, the acrid smell of burning flesh… After what felt like an hour, but in reality was only around three or four minutes, the onslaught of underlings suddenly stopped. I wandered around for a few moments, looking for my next target…only to blink a few times and snap out of my daze. It was like my eyes had been closed the whole time, and I was just now opening them.

Normally there probably would have been a lot of dead bodies littering the ground around the oak tree, but all the underlings I killed turned into grist. The only ones whose bodies remained after death were the ones killed by Scales. The ground was covered with mounds of varying kinds of grist. After another few seconds, they all shimmered and vanished, getting stored in my grist cache. Yeah, I really don't know how that worked—it's just one of the many things about Sburb that I decided not to question.

Glimmering Scales wiped his blade clean on one of the ogre corpses. "Your control over fire needss more work…" the red-scaled consort said, but he then flared his neck hood in a shrug, and added, "But you will hear no complaintss from me, thiss time."

I looked around at all the burned grass and scorch marks on the ground. I'd really roasted these guys… I'd refrained from using fire so much when I'm in the middle of a fight, because I tended to get angry and lose control of myself…which is exactly what had happened here. I was just glad Scales hadn't been accidentally hurt. If I'd been fighting alongside more than one or two friends, someone would definitely have gotten hurt.

"_By the Knight, who are you people?_"

I had been looking at Scales when the voice spoke to us, so I knew the red-scaled cobra wasn't the one who'd spoken. Then it registered in my brain that the voice had come from above…and there was only one place someone could be speaking down to us from.

The consort had been lying still as a stone, and her brown scales allowed her to blend in with the branch which she was coiled around. I honestly would not have spotted her unless she started moving. I looked up, saw the dark brown-scaled consort slither down from her high branch. She had emerald green eyes like Scales, but they were larger and rounder. Her head was more angular, as well…the subtle physical differences between the three tribes, perhaps. She was obviously no Treefolk...but she wasn't a Sand Dweller, either. They had more slanted eyes and thicker neck hoods, as well as generally stouter bodies. No, she was something else... She also had a sheathed sword secured to her back, along with a small traveling satchel.

Scales had his sword unsheathed and leveled at the brown-scaled consort within a heartbeat. "Name yoursself, sstranger," he hissed threateningly.

"My name iss Aiyana of Clan Unagwe," the female consort dropped to the ground, unsheathing a sword of her own. "And I do not take kindly to threatss."

"Put the swords away, children, before someone gets a cut," I stepped between the two consorts.

"And what manner of creature are you?" the brown-scaled female, Aiyana, stared at me like I had five heads.

"Show ssome resspect," Scales snapped. "You're sspeaking to the Knight."

"You? The Knight?" Aiyana lowered her blade a tad, but the skepticism in her voice was painfully obvious.

"No," I flat-out said. I was gonna nip this skepticism in the bud. "Uh-uh. Nope. I'm not going through this _proving myself_ bullshit again. I just helped fight off an entire swarm of fucking underlings. I have a Vis of my own—unless you're blind, you clearly saw me using it to absolutely _wreck_ the aforementioned swarm of fucking underlings. I'm the Knight, believe me or get out of my way."

The female consort was silent for a few moments. "Eyess of red…He Who Walks Tall…" she murmured. Her gaze slid over to Scales. "The alien sspeakss the truth?" she asked.

"He doess."

Aiyana gave a quiet grunt, though it came out sounding more like a guttural hiss. "Well, I ssuppose I can trusst the word of even a Treefolk more than the word of an alien… Come, we musst leave thiss place. More underlingss will arrive ssoon."

We hurried off the top of the hill and away from the giant oak tree, putting some distance between ourselves and the site of that little bloodbath. I could faintly hear more animalistic howls in the distance, but we were moving at a good pace. We wouldn't run into any more trouble. For now, at least.

"So what the hell were you doing out here, all by yourself?" I asked the brown-scaled consort.

"I wass being purssued by the sswarm you two jusst killed," Aiyana replied. "Sswarmss that large usually don't roam the hillss until nightfall, and I confess I wass caught by ssurprisse. I ssupposse I owe you both a thank-you for handling that sswarm, though I wass quite well hidden and not in any real danger."

"Where are you taking uss?" Scales asked the next question.

"To my village," Aiyana answered without hesitation. "I live in the largesst of my clan'ss ssettlementss. I will bring you there and let the Faithful decide your fate."

"The who?" I arched an eyebrow. What, did this consort think I was supposed to magically know everything about her people? I wasn't a Hero of Light—spontaneous knowledge wasn't my bag. I just stuck with energy manipulation. Telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and other assorted goodies. Well, really only just those two…

"The Faithful," Aiyana repeated herself. "The foreigner who sservess as our leader. You will meet him ssoon enough."

I let the brown-scaled consort slither on ahead of us, leaning over to Glimmering Scales after she was out of earshot. "You have any idea what she's talking about?"

"I do not," Scales hissed in reply. "I know very little of the cusstomss of the Northern Fires."

So she _was_ a Northerner. I figured as much.

After about two or three hours of steady hiking, Aiyana led us off to the side, ducking into a grove of trees. It was a small clearing, secluded from its surroundings. Not necessarily a fortress, obviously, but still a good place to rest up and catch a breather. Aiyana unshouldered her satchel—okay, maybe that's a poor choice of words seeing as how she's a cobra and doesn't _have_ shoulders…but whatever—and rummaged around inside it for a minute or so. Finally, she produced a couple of squares of dark meat.

I briefly wondered why it took her so long just to take out a little snack, but she started speaking before I could give it much thought.

"Jerky," she held them out to Scales and me with her Vis. "Lifebeast jerky. We have a lot of disstance to cover and it will give you energy."

* * *

><p>"<em>Wake up.<em>"

What the…? What the fuck?

I opened my eyes to the sight of a wooden ceiling. I was lying on a makeshift bed of furs, and my body felt like it was made of seventy-five percent ache. I'd obviously been carried a good distance, then most likely dropped onto the ground, here, without much regard to my comfort.

I hadn't dreamed, though… I'd fallen asleep, somehow, but I hadn't dreamed…

I was disoriented, and my memory was hazy, jumbled. I couldn't remember… How had I gotten here?

Then I saw the green-eyed, brown-scaled consort leaning over me, and the memories surged back. Stopping in the clearing for a rest. The buffalo jerky. Heading back to the trail, then…drowsiness…and now, here I was.

"You drugged me," I said accusingly to the female consort.

"Good, you're awake," Aiyana moved back, no longer trying to rouse me. "Nothing perssonal, obvioussly…but should you ever fall to the Dark Oness, we cannot have you knowing the location of our chamberss. Were Hyperion'ss dogss ever to disscover uss…well, I shall not even sspeak of that. Welcome to the Underground."

Another consort—a thickset, violet-scaled brute—was busy shaking Scales awake. The red-scaled cobra went through a similar show of confusion, though his was slightly more violent than mine. He actually knocked the violet-scaled consort back across the room and sprang to his feet, baring his fangs and hissing threateningly.

The violet-scaled consort gave an angry growl and advanced on Scales, but Aiyana slipped in between the two males. "Easy, Inuyyak," she talked Violet Scales down.

"Little shit thinkss he can push me?" Inuyyak grunted, making for Scales once again. "I think little shit needss a lesson."

"He hass jusst awoken from a falsse-ssleep," Aiyana argued, standing her ground. "He iss dissoriented. Give him a ssecond."

Inuyyak gave an irritated huff, but he relented, slithering back towards the door. The dark brown-scaled female took a few moments to give Scales the same explanation she gave me, though Scales was by no means satisfied by it. Thankfully, he decided to keep his mouth shut, for once in his life.

"So, do we have your permission to leave this room?" I sighed, trying not to roll my eyes. There really wasn't anything holding me here; I could blast my way out if I wanted to…but that wouldn't exactly do wonders for my reputation. I needed the consorts on my side, and beating the crap out of them wouldn't really achieve that.

"Yess, the Faithful will ssee you, now," Aiyana opened the door. "My leaderss have gathered while you sslept."

"Great, time for some goddamn answers…" I muttered, too quietly for the Northerners to hear, but loud enough to be heard by Scales.

"Right thiss way, little shitss," Inuyyak used his Vis to give me a strong shove between my shoulder blades, making me stumble through the door.

Flames curled up around my fists. I took a deep breath and turned around to face the violet-scaled consort. "Look, I don't know you, and there's probably a good reason why you're acting like such an asshole…but for real. Shove me again, and I'll jam this fire down your throat."

The violet-scaled cobra snorted in amusement. "I'd like to ssee you try, little shit-"

"That'ss enough, Inuyyak!" Aiyana snapped, not bothering to turn around. The violet-scaled cobra hung back, muttering under his breath.

The dark brown-scaled female led us out of the room we'd been sleeping in and through a short earthen tunnel. No walls, no real ceiling…just a tunnel through the ground, eventually emerging into a large, subterranean cavern that looked like a giant cellar, to be honest. There were a few other tunnels that led to more rooms, but none were in use.

Off at one end of the cavern, there were two consorts gathered around a small fire—a whitish gray-scaled elder and a middle-aged consort with golden scales. And not only was he gold-scaled…he had more slanted eyes, and a thicker neck hood…all physical traits of another tribe. He clearly didn't belong here.

"You…you're a-" I started to point out, but the gold-scaled consort beat me to it.

"A Sand Dweller, yess," Gold Scales finished for me. So, it clearly wasn't a secret, or anything…though it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was from a different tribe. "My name iss Tlanextic of Clan Oaxaca. I am the Faithful of Clan Unagwe. Welcome to the Underground."

"Uh…hey, um… The Underground. Yeah," I cleared my throat awkwardly. The Underground...that was the second time I had heard that term. "So this is the, uh…the Underground, is it?"

"The Underground iss not a place, it iss a movement," the gray-scaled elder explained. "An underground movement among uss Northernerss, dedicated to the downfall of Hyperion and his night-carapaced dogss. I am K'eyush of Clan Unagwe, and I am the sachem of the village above…" Okay, so we were obviously underneath a village right now. "…and we are taking great rissk to meet with you here. Aiyana, here, hass told uss ssome very interessting thingss about you."

"Like how I'm the Knight, for example?" I spread my hands innocently.

"That doess sseem quite likely," K'eyush nodded. "Aiyana wass returning from a sscouting mission in the wesst. The Treefolk have mobilized, it sseemss…and our brotherss in the Sands are doing likewise."

Scales glared at Aiyana, his pupils narrowing to slits. "You were sspying on my people?"

"I wass _obsserving_ your people," the dark brown-scaled female corrected my friend. "When the Treefolk clanss begin forssaking the ssafety of their foresstss, which they have not left ssince the time of Hyperion'ss conquesst…it ssparkss our interesst. When sstoriess circulate that ssomeone wass actually able to complete their foolish Trial of Legends…it ssparkss our interesst. When the Faithful receivess word from our brotherss in the Sands that they, too, are mobilizing for battle at the behesst of a figure of mythology…it-"

"No, no. Let me guess…" I held up a hand, glad to be the one doing the interrupting, this time. "It _ssparkss_ _your_ _interesst?_"

Okay, maybe when Theo said I had a tendency to be an asshole when it would behoove me to…well, _not_ be an asshole… Okay, well maybe he was kind of right.

If Aiyana was annoyed, though, she hid it really well. "Yess, precissely," she responded, her forked tongue flitting out to taste the air being her only outward reaction to my assholery.

"Okay, so…what crazy thing do I need to do for you people to make you believe that I'm the Knight?" I decided to stop avoiding that particular topic of discussion and simply charge right at it head-on. "I climbed a ladder of swords for the Treefolk, I went back in time and helped spark the liberation of the quarries for the Desert Fires…what crazy outlandish thing do I have to do for you-"

"Peace, Knight," K'eyush, the gray-scaled elder, silenced me with his gaze. "Your being the Knight iss hard to believe…but at the ssame time, as I ssaid, very likely."

"Ultimately, it doess not matter to uss very much whether or not you truly are the Knight," Tlanextic explained. "What matterss iss that you have managed to rally the Western _and_ the Desert Fires, and were we to add our sstrength to yourss…all three of our peopless would sstand united, which hass not happened ssince the time of the Old One. It would sserve as a unique opportunity to challenge Hyperion'ss sstrength…an opportunity we may never ssee again. Therefore, it iss an opportunity we musst take advantage of."

"You will have our ssupport," K'eyush finished for the gold-scaled Sand Dweller. "And for all our ssakess, not to mention your _own_ ssake… I hope you truly are who you claim to be."

Wow. I mean…just… Okay, wow. This was almost too good to be true. Consorts accepting that I was the Knight without making me swing from one tree to another with my own intestines? Consorts who used common sense and logic to dictate their actions? What the fuck was going on, here?

The Northern Fires were certainly alright in my book!

"Okay, wonderful!" I gave a wide grin. "So, uh… You guys are actually gonna follow me? Just like that? I mean, I'm not complaining, or anything, it's just…the other tribes didn't fall in so easily. I actually almost got sacrificed when I arrived in Aztlán-"

"We will follow you, yess, but there iss more that needss to be done, firsst," Tlanextic cut me off again, before I could go off on too much of a tangent. "The Underground iss extensive. We are in every village, and word of your arrival musst be brought to them."

"Am I gonna have to spend another month traveling from village to village, because-"

"Peace, Knight!" Tlanextic had to interrupt me yet again…maybe I should just shut my fucking mouth. Maybe that would solve all my problems. The gold-scaled consort turned to the brown-scaled female. "Aiyana, there iss a good reason why I requessted your presence here along with our visitorss'. I would name you an Acolyte and have you convey the Wordss to the Faithful in the High Council Fire."

Aiyana blinked several times, her tongue flitting out momentarily in surprise. "Me? You would name me? But…surely there are otherss more ssuited to the tassk…"

"It wass naught but fortune that led _you_ to be the one to encounter the Knight and his companion, to bring them to uss ssafely," the gray-scaled elder declared. "It iss surely a ssign from the Great Sky Flame. I believe it would be unwise to introduce any changess to ssomething the Great Sky Flame hass already demonsstrated itss favor for—therefore, you shall remain with the Knight. Come closser, sso the Faithful might give you the Wordss."

Aiyana slithered forward hesitantly, standing before the two older consorts. The gold-scaled Sand Dweller leaned forward and whispered something to Aiyana, too quietly for me and Scales, or even for K'eyush to hear. Aiyana blinked a couple times looking from Tlanextic to K'eyush, and then back to Tlanextic. "Do they mean anything?"

"Yess," Tlanextic replied. "It iss the Old One'ss name. The lasst thing she ssaid to the Witnesses before her death. It iss the code we Faithful agreed to use to ssignify the Knight'ss arrival. The Faithful at the High Council Fire will recognize it. As for you," the gold-scaled consort turned to me. "You will alsso go to the High Council Fire. Aiyana will give the Wordss to the Faithful there, and you will cement your claim as the Knight. Then you will prove yoursself to the resst of the Northern clanss."

And there it was, yet again, those two innocent little words that have been proving to be the fucking bane of my existence.

_Prove yourself_.

God damn it all, I _knew_ everything was going way too easily to be true.

"And, uh…okay, prove myself to the Northern Fires. Got it. Awesome," I muttered. "What am I gonna have to do this time?"

"Oh, nothing too complicated," Tlanextic's neck hoods flared in the cobra equivalent of a shrug. "Before we march on the Denizen, we musst firsst deal with his dogss. You will help uss drive the Dark Oness from our villagess and from their fortss. Then we will help _you_ drive them from the Old One's Garden, and our world shall finally be cleanssed."

"You will leave within the hour," K'eyush concluded, flashing us a faint smile. "The Denizen'ss creaturess are out in force, thiss sseasson, and the distance to the High Council Fire iss not ssmall. Take care on your travelss, lesst you meet a premature end as a meal to the underlingss."


	32. IV Chapter 32: Airstrike

Chapter Thirty-Two: Airstrike

I woke up to the view of a gray stone ceiling.

For a brief moment I thought I was waking up in my dream turret at the White Keep…only to remember an instant later that my dream turret was made of green stone, not gray. I was someplace else. I kicked off the covers, climbing to my feet. I wasn't tired or anything—I'm never tired when I wake up as my dream self—but all the same…sometimes I missed my old dream room on the golden moon of Prospit. I missed waking up to the soothing feeling of the light of Skaia shining through my windows. I missed getting high with Cruz, and flying through the spires and towers of the city below...

I wasn't sorry that I left the Golden Moon…but that didn't mean there weren't things I missed. The warm light of Skaia…Cruz and Tami…the White Queen… But the Golden Moon wasn't where I needed to be. I was needed here, on the Battlefield.

There was no door in my room; only a transportalizer pad sitting in one of the corners opposite my bed. I stepped onto the pad, ignoring the nausea that threatened to overthrow the current stability of my stomach and its contents as I suddenly found myself standing on another pad in a completely different room.

Yeah, I really didn't mix well with alternative forms of transportation, it seemed. Time travel gave me headaches, and teleportation made me feel sick. I emerged in a rectangular room with a row of identical transportalizer pads, probably leading to other rooms like the one I'd woken up in. I walked through the door and found myself in a corridor. There were a couple Prospitian operatives making their way through the corridor as I strolled in, and I grabbed the first one to pass me.

"Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt, but where the hell am I?"

The Prospitian stammered something about being honored to meet me, then something about an airfield, before scurrying away. Man, it got annoying how fucking shy some of the Prospitians could get with me… I mean, yeah, maybe I'm one of the most important figures in their mythology, but god damn! I'm not a fucking god, or anything; I'm just a somewhat-intelligent high-school student! If they knew anything about me, they wouldn't melt into jelly the moment I looked at them.

I chose a direction and followed the corridor until it emerged into a larger room with several more corridors branching out in two more directions. The fourth wall, however, contained the entrance to a stairwell. I seemed to be currently on some sort of sub-level, so I took the stairs up until I reached the ground floor.

Luck was on my side, today. I left the stairwell and walked into a larger corridor that seemed to run to the entrance of this facility…and I entered the corridor just as none other than Theo Gibbons walked past, accompanied by a squadron of Prospitian pilots—flight officers of the Royal Air Force, distinguishable by their circular gold and white insignias.

Theo's face split into a wide grin when he saw me. "Well, look who's finally awake!" he exclaimed, striding over and sucking me into one of his crushing bear hugs.

"Well, technically you should be saying _'Look who's finally asleep!'_ because this is my dream self-"

"Shut up, you literal motherfucker, or I swear to god I'll crack one of your ribs," Theo growled as he released me, letting me nearly sag to my knees, gasping for breath.

Yeah…to say Theo wasn't witty would be a vicious lie—he was wittier than most of the people I know, except for Tami. But I've spent most of my life honing the ancient and mystical art of sarcasm, and so I was always able to destroy him when we started making fun of each other. But then he would make up for it by simply giving up and pummeling me, which, unfortunately, no amount of snappy comebacks or retorts could deflect.

"Good to see you, too," I squeaked, getting back up to my feet and falling in step with Theo as he followed the squadron of pilots towards the entrance doors of this facility.

"Oh, you know I only inflict bodily harm on you out of love."

"Easy, there, Liberace-" I was cut off yet again, this time by Theo's fist. It didn't actually hit me, though; I was able to duck in time. Still, though…he didn't usually go for the punch until I'd needled him for at least five minutes. "Trying to punch me already? You're in rare form today, bro!"

"Just a lil' on edge, I guess," Theo shrugged. "Dersites launched an assault on our lines, yesterday…all-out blitzkrieg. Fuckin' miracle we didn't get steamrolled in the first hour…only reason Dersites aren't all over us is because the Prospitian Rangers were running deep exercises when the Dersites came at us, so we were _kinda_ prepared for them…"

"How could they have surprised us that way?" I asked. "I mean, hasn't the White King been fighting them since…like…forever?"

The first of the Prospitian flight officers pushed open the entrance doors, letting daylight spill into the corridor. Theo and I followed the pilots outside, stepping onto what appeared to be a giant tarmac. There was a large field beyond the tarmac filled with various kinds of golden aircraft—fighter jets, gunships, transports, and the like.

"It's not so much the fact that the Black King is attacking," Theo tried to explain. "It's the sheer scale of the offensive, not to mention what he's attacking with…"

"What, how many fronts is he attacking us on?"

"All of them."

"Ah…_that_ kind of attack…" I cleared my throat quietly as we followed the Prospitian pilots across the tarmac and into the grassy field. I decided to change the subject. "So, what is this place? Tried asking someone back in the base, but then he got all star-struck."

"This is the King's Airfield, the staging ground of the Prospitian Royal Air Force," Theo explained. "There's a division of soldiers that's in danger of becoming entrapped by the Dersite advance, so the White King sent me here to help 'em out, and I brought your dream self along for the ride…you chose the right time to wake up!"

"Always happy to help," I grunted. The pilots all stood in formation in front of their gunships for a few moments as their squadron commander gave them a quick briefing. I started to listen in on the squad leader's little speech, but Theo whistled to me, gesturing for me to climb into one of the gunships. These were smaller aircraft with rotor systems, almost resembling gilded Vietnam-era Huey attack helicopters.

I hopped into the troop bay—the side doors were already open—and sat on the edge, letting my feet dangle. Almost for the first time, I looked down at my shoes. They were like moccasins, and they were a neutral green. I'd never really noticed that they were the same color as the green of my dream rooms, which in _turn_ was the same color green that Tami used for her PalHassle text. Yeah, the weird little things I pick up on, sometimes, right? I wondered if there was any significance to it.

Another reason I found I enjoyed being my dream self, other than how my head always felt so much clearer, was the fact that I was wearing clothes that weren't falling the fuck apart. My golden Prospit pajamas had held strong, so far, and they never seemed to get dirty or smell! Except, of course, for the brown dried bloodstains that spattered most of the shirt—a nice little remembrance of my attempted assassination at the hands of the Hegemonic Brute.

After about a minute, the squad commander dismissed his subordinates, and they broke formation. The pilot of our bird climbed in through the other side opening, the one Theo and I weren't sitting in. He wore a tan leather jacket, a greenish-gray helmet, and black aviator sunglasses. Yeah, some of the carapacian pilots wore sunglasses, ridiculous as it may sound. The insignia of the Royal Air Force was emblazoned on his sleeves—a circular gold patch, with a white pentagon in the middle—the pentagon bearing the eight towers of Prospit.

The pilot gave us a nod as he hopped into his bird, swinging himself straight into the cockpit at the very front. "Pleasure to be flying you," he said to us as he fired up the engines. "Do me a favor and man the door guns when we reach the kill zone, will you?"

"Glad to," Theo gave another one of his trademark grins.

"Well, _he_ obviously doesn't have any problems talking with us," I remarked, standing up and holding onto one of the handles mounted above the opening to keep myself steady as we started to rise up into the sky. "I swear, whenever I tried to talk to the Prospitians back on the Golden Moon, they'd start freakin' turning into jelly!"

"Well, of course they did," Theo replied. "We're both figures of their mythology. Imagine if Achilles or Moses just showed up one day and came to your house. Even _you_ would be at a slight loss for words."

"No, I think I'd just invite them inside and get them to take some shots with me."

Theo tried to raise an eyebrow and failed, so he just ended up raising both of them. "Taking shots with Moses and Achilles? Really? And how would you do this with your Sis around?"

I hesitated for a moment. "Okay, then I'll invite them over to _Cruz's_ place to take some shots with me."

Theo glared at me. I met his gaze, and for a few seconds neither of us spoke. Then he finally said, "I think you've missed the point."

"No I got the point, I just chose not to acknowledge it."

"Why am I still friends with you?"

"If I were to wager a guess, I'd say it was for the sideburns," I grinned, cupping my hands behind the sides of my face, showcasing the less-than-awesome facial hair that extended from my ears down to the corners of my lower jaw.

We rose up into the air, leaving the King's Airfield far behind. As we neared the clouds, I was actually able to get a glimpse of some of the prophetic images they showed. It was a lot harder to see them from the ground of the Battlefield, for some reason…I could only see them when we were physically _close_ to the clouds.

I saw a winged creature that appeared to be a pterodactyl, bearing Theo to the top of a strange, pillar-like mesa. There was a stone slab at the top with four spires sprouting up from all four corners, almost like bedposts, each spire capped with an orb of dark material. The pterodactyl laid Theo down on the slab, and the spires began to glow. I looked closer and saw that Theo was covered in blood.

In another cloud, I saw the White Keep…and it was in flames. I saw Theo again, this time standing in front of the gates. He was blazing with a bright blue light, facing off with someone else… I tried to see who he was fighting, but all I could see was darkness. Shadow.

In a third cloud, I saw Cass, dressed in sleeveless robes of purple and black, standing on a balcony in a dark, quiet purple city, watching as the asteroids of the veil and the distant point of light that was Skaia grew smaller and smaller, eventually vanishing completely. She turned away from the balcony. She was crying.

In a fourth cloud, I saw Skaia, in all its glory… But as I watched, several dark shapes crept over it. Gradually, the clouds of Skaia turned gray and stormy, and the light of the epicenter of our incipisphere went dark.

I had to look away…that last image had been too disturbing. I glanced over at Theo, wondering if he'd seen those images as well. He had been looking out the other side of the gunship, however. He had a slightly troubled look on his face which he promptly wiped away when he saw me looking at him. I wondered what he'd seen in _his_ clouds.

I didn't get the chance to look at anymore clouds because our pilot sent us speeding forward. The clouds zipped on past; some of them were showing their mysterious images, but we were moving too fast to see them. Probably for the best, if you ask me…

"So, how're you and Cass doin'?" Theo asked me.

That kinda caught me off-guard. I tried my best not to show my surprise at the question, but I don't know how successful I was. "Uh… I mean… I dunno," I managed to get out. "I haven't talked to her in a long time…haven't seen her since before Day One, and she's never been on PalHassle whenever I log in."

"After all the trouble I went through to set up a date between you two lovebirds, you haven't even bothered to _talk_ to her?" Theo exclaimed, his look of amusement morphing into a glare. "Dude, you suck!"

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, fucking invent telepathy and talk to her with my mind?" I snapped back. "I don't share a dream planet with her, you know! And I haven't exactly been lying around all day with an abundance of free time, either—I'm fuckin' _busy!_ I've got three tribes of psychotic consorts to deal with, and-"

"Okay, okay!" Theo held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn't mean to open Pandora's fucking Box of Feels, there; I was just curious! I mean, she does like you, and after all that shit with Anna last year… Don't fuck this up, okay? Don't you dare fuck it up! Talk to her when you get the chance."

While we were on the subject, I decided to do a little sleuthing of my own. "So… I remember hearing certain rumors about Cass and my Sprite…are they true? I mean, he's been with her since Day One."

"I don't know anything about that," Theo replied. His face and voice betrayed nothing, but I think he answered a little too quickly. I didn't press him for answers, though…even if he did know something that I didn't, it was something I wouldn't want to know in the first place. Best to leave it be, I guess.

The trip lasted maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. The Battlefield was a big place, but these gunships were able to move pretty fast. It wasn't long before I noticed that we were starting to lose altitude, descending towards the black and white checkered earth below. I leaned out the side of the gunship, using my Aspect to keep the wind from tearing at my eyes and face, and I was able to see smoke in the near distance.

"We're getting close to the kill-zone, Heroes!" the pilot shouted back to us from the cockpit. He had to yell to be heard over the din of the engine. "Deploy the door guns!"

The door guns were large, bulky energy turrets that were probably the Prospitian equivalent of an M60, or something along those lines. They were attached to metal limbs which secured them to the troop bay of the gunship. Right now, while not in use, they were folded up against the wall. I grasped the door gun on my side and flicked off the locking bolts, allowing it to slide over to the door opening. The turret was still facing up, however, so I searched around the connector that secured the gun to the metal limb, finding another pair of locking bolts.

When I loosened the bolt, the door gun was released from its upright position and fell forward, locking into a ready position, hanging out of the side opening and aiming towards the ground. I seized the grips of the door gun and swiveled it from side to side, getting a feel for its weight. I found I could also move it up and down if I loosened the second locking bolt, allowing for three-dimensional maneuverability.

"You know what we need?" I shouted over to Theo.

"What!"

"We need to find a way to blast _Fortunate Son,_ bro!" I grinned. "Feel like I'm in fuckin' Vietnam!"

"Don't got my ipod speakers, man, sorry!" Theo murmured. "Guess we could always sing it ourselves?"

"We're doing it, man! We're making this happen!"

We were beginning to soar over Prospitian camps and troops movements. The ground below was pockmarked as a result of artillery and aerial strikes—probably incurred within the opening hours of the Dersite advance. We continued to descend until we were flying low to the earth, maybe around a hundred feet, maybe a little less.

Theo started laying down the bassline for _Fortunate Son,_ by Creedence Clearwater Revival—your quintessential war song, usually always played in 'Nam war movies when the rugged, jacked up soldiers came roaring into the jungle on helicopters, ready to bring the pain to Charlie. I couldn't get enough of it!

"Alright, weapons free!" the pilot hollered back to us. "If it's black, kill it!"

I spared a moment to glance at Theo, but he caught my gaze and flipped me the bird. "Shut the fuck up and sing!" he yelled.

Well, I was more than happy to oblige. "_Some folks are born, maaaade to raise the flag!_"

"_Ooh, they're red white an' blue!_" Theo chimed in.

We flew through a column of smoke and emerged over one of the most chaotic battlegrounds I've ever seen…and yeah, I really haven't seen very many battles, but I always had an idea of what a battle like this was supposed to look like. I've watched Band of Brothers, I've watched a lot of shit…and nothing I've seen on TV looked remotely like this.

I got ready to fire the door gun as we approached the fighting. "_And when the band plays HAAAIL to the Chief! Ooh, they point the cannon at—_**FUCK!**" I ducked instinctively as a hail of energy bolts peppered the side of our gunship, just a few inches to the left of my head.

Theo had ducked as well, reacting as the pilot veered suddenly off to the left, avoiding the remainder of the weaponsfire. He glanced back over to me, straightening back up. "Okay, no more singing?"

"Yeah, no more singing," I nodded in agreement.

The ground we'd flown over had been slightly fucked up by artillery, but the area we were approaching now, beyond the Prospitian lines, was fucked up beyond all recognition. All-out FUBAR. It looked like something straight out of World War I, where both sides would pound the same strip of land with artillery for days, weeks, even months.

The Prospitians weren't using full trenches, though. They had dug shallow trenches and foxholes, using the earthen defenses in concert with manmade—carapacianmade?—fortifications. Energy shields that looked like they came straight out of the Halo franchise, wooden and metal barricades, as well as a fair amount of barbed wire.

I could see Prospitian soldiers in brown coats and light gray helmets hunkered down in the foxholes and trenches, trading fire with the advancing Dersite commandos. There were machinegun emplacements scattered along the line and mortar teams situated further back, and I could tell they were slowing the Dersites down…but not stopping them. There also appeared to have been light anti-armor emplacements set behind the Prospitian lines, but they had all been destroyed.

I was beginning to understand how crucial this air support was to the Prospitians below.

And as for the Dersites… I could see formations of commandos slowly advancing in concert with obsidian tanks, marching in step with each other, their shields locked like a Roman legion. To say they weren't taking casualties would be a lie, but they were faring really well, considering the amount of firepower being poured onto them. Their shields, while appearing normal and metallic, seemed to be able to deflect the energy bolts of the Prospitian weapons with varying amounts of success.

There were more commandos who did not use the Roman-esque swords and shields—much more modern counterparts, wielding energy rifles that fired white projectiles, unlike the Prospitian weapons which fired red energy. They were dressed entirely in black armor—helmets, boots; everything. Wouldn't want to fight these guys in the dark…

For some reason, the Prospitians below had very little armored support, just a handful of tanks, so I was in awe of how they'd managed to hold out against the forces arrayed against them—they must have been fighting nonstop since yesterday.

I pulled the triggers of the door gun and opened fire. There was surprisingly little recoil, though the noise was almost deafening, and I had to take care not to let my arms brush against the sides of the turret—the heat was almost unbearable. The door gun itself fired giant slugs of crackling red energy at such a high rate that it probably would've looked like a light show in the dark.

There was a faint _whooshing_ sound as the pilot fired rockets, or missiles, or something along those lines. He then brought us down super-low to the ground to perform a strafing run on the Dersites below. I could only do so much to aim while firing from the side of a rapid-moving aircraft, but the door gun's rate of fire made up for the severe drop in accuracy.

I aimed for the tanks. The bolts from the Prospitian soldiers' semi-automatic energy rifles were not powerful enough to do any damage to the tanks, but the massive amounts of _FUCK_ that this door gun doled out were heavy enough to tear those Dersite tanks apart.

The pilot took us higher into the sky and brought us around for another strafing run. This time, with most of the Dersite tanks in the area neutralized by the other gunships in the Prospitian air squadron, I focused my door gun's fire on a formation of Dersite melee commandos that were getting dangerously close to the Prospitian lines. While their shields were energy-resistant to a degree, they could not easily stand up to firepower of this door gun's caliber, nor that of the Prospitian machineguns. That was why they moved in concert with the tanks, but without the tanks…and also considering the fact that we were fucking them from behind, where their shields weren't pointing…between Theo and myself, we really messed that formation of Dersites up.

The heavy energy bolts melted right through their dark carapacian 'flesh', and I could see a fair amount of blood and body parts flying about… I did my best not to watch too closely, for my stomach's sake. If Theo and I hadn't stopped singing _Fortunate Son_ when we had, I would have stopped singing now.

We repeated this process three or four times, coming in hot and wrecking a lot of Dersite shit, buying our Prospitian boys in brown some breathing room. Then, in the middle of our next pass, the pilot broke off our attack, suddenly. "Hold onto something, Heroes!" he shouted back to us. "We've got incoming Dersite bandits!"

"Bandits?" I didn't quite understand, but Theo was quick to explain.

"It's what they call enemy aircraft," Theo clarified. "You know, bogeys are unidentified aircraft, bandits are enemy-"

"Got it, thanks!" I cut him off, holding onto one of the handholds with one hand as we rapidly gained altitude, rising up and away from the fighting on the ground. Our pilot brought us up into the sky and we quickly found ourselves flying in tight formation with the other Prospitian gunships. I was actually able to trade a thumbs-up with the pilot of the gunship to our right, which was the side on which I was manning the door gun.

I leaned out of our gunship again, trying to get a glimpse of what was coming our way. There was another gunship in front of us, so I couldn't really see anything. After a few seconds of steady flying, our formation loosened, and the pilot sent us into a bit of a dive. I gave up trying to keep track of where everyone else was flying and instead just concentrated on keeping on the lookout for anything non-Prospitian.

One of the Prospitian gunships suddenly howled right over us, approaching from the left. I watched as it flew away from us, not realizing that it was under pursuit until it exploded, suddenly, in a blinding haze of white flame. A Dersite aircraft—one that looked similar to our gunship, though considerably less advanced—flew right over us as well, following the same path as its recently-destroyed target. I brought the door gun around and unloaded on the Dersite bandit, but it banked sharply to the left before I could land a hit.

It wasn't a problem, though… Our pilot brought us about and sent us forward after the bandit, whereupon he ended up destroying the enemy aircraft with the gunship's nose cannons. The wreckage of the bandit was still falling through the sky even as we flew right through the point in the sky where it had been destroyed.

When the pilot brought us back around, I could see the rest of the Prospitian gunships mopping up the last of the Dersite bandits. I could plainly see that while the Dersites seemed to hold the distinct advantage when it came to weaponry and ground forces, the Prospitians had the superior Air Force.

I never found out what exactly had hit us. Maybe it'd been one of the remaining Dersite bandits, coming after us because we'd drifted from the rest of the Prospitian gunships. Maybe it'd been a Dersite tank that had squeezed off a lucky shot, or an anti-aircraft emplacement that we hadn't known about. Maybe an enemy commando had managed to hit us with some kind of rocket launcher. I don't know.

And in the end, it really didn't matter what hit us. All that mattered was that we had been hit. I nearly lost my grip on the door gun and went flying when our gunship lurched suddenly. Alarms started blaring from the cockpit and our gunship began to spin all over the place. Just looking out the side doors was enough to make me even more nauseous than I already was.

"We've been hit!" the pilot yelled back to us, and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from screaming back, '_No shit, Sherlock!_' "Our rear stabilizer's shot to hell! Best hold onto something; we're going in hard!"

Theo and I shared a quick glance. In that moment, I knew he was thinking the exact same thing I was thinking. "Rock, paper, scissors!" I shouted over to him, holding out my fist.

Theo gave a single nod, holding out his own fist. We started shaking our hands in rhythm with each other. "Rock, Paper, Scissors, _shoot!_" we both called out at the same time. I flattened out my fist into paper, but Theo had chosen scissors, winning the match. "See you groundside!" he grinned, turning from me and jumping out the side opening.

As for me, I threw myself across the troop bay and pulled myself into the cockpit, where the pilot was desperately trying to reestablish some semblance of control over the crashing gunship. Trying, and failing. Before he could even see me, I wrapped my arms around the guy and hauled him out of the pilot's seat.

Ignoring the pilot's protests, I focused my Aspect and thrust my palm upwards. There was a screeching, cracking sound, and the entire glass window that surrounded the cockpit was blown free by my Vis. I then simply jumped up with the pilot still in my grip, hanging in midair as the gunship continued to plummet, eventually crashing to the earth below in a fiery haze.

This pilot was incredibly lucky that I was my dream self, at the moment—I could use my Aspect to fly when I was awake, but it was so much more natural and effortless when I was my dream self. I was much more likely to fuck this up if I were awake, is what I guess I'm trying to say.

I flew through the air, praying the whole time that no one on the ground would spot me and start trying to shoot me out of the sky like our ill-fated gunship. I also tried not to pay attention to what lay below, either—the Prospitian air squadron had wreaked some serious havoc on the Dersite advance. The Dersites were stalled at best, not stopped…but still. It was pretty ugly down there.

The wind smelled terrible. An acrid, burning stench filled the sky…burning oil, rubber, burnt flesh, blood. I flew as fast as we could, dodging the thick columns of oily smoke. There was still a thin layer of smoke that had permeated throughout the entire sky, however, and my eyes started to tear up and sting before I remembered to use my Aspect to protect them.

I couldn't use the Force Aspect to protect my mouth, however, and it wasn't long before my throat started to burn. I fell into several coughing fits during my flight, but nothing too serious, thankfully.

After what felt like an hour, though in reality it was less than two minutes, I found myself flying over the Prospitian lines. Some of the soldiers cheered for us as we soared over their heads. I glanced down and saw that they were abandoning their foxholes and trenches, leaving the defenses.

Well, no, not abandoning…it was too organized, too orderly. It was a tactical retreat.

I got us over the front lines and allowed myself to descend, aiming for what looked like some sort of forward command center, set less than a quarter-mile behind the foxholes. As we neared the ground, I was surprised to see Theo waiting for us. Good thing he hadn't deviated from following a straight path back to the lines, else we would probably have ended up separated by a mile or two.

I set the Prospitian flight officer down gently before I let my feet touch the ground. "Pleasure to be flying _you,_" I grinned at the pilot.

"I'll tell others of your bravery," the pilot assured me.

"Yeah, uh…yeah, you do that," I decided I should mention the fact that I saved him because I was the one who lost Rock, Paper, Scissors to Theo. Still, though… I always lost Rock, Paper, Scissors to Theo. Six or seven years of failed Rock, Paper, Scissors matches spoke for themselves. I dunno if I'd taken this to account when I challenged him, back in the gunship…hey, maybe there _was_ a little bit of Hero inside of me, after-

Bleh, never mind; I can't finish that sentence without throwing up.

When Theo and I made our way into the command post, we found all the operatives packing up, closing up shop. "Anyone in charge here?" Theo spoke up.

No one stopped what they were doing, but a short, broad-chested Prospitian dressed in a brown trench coat and an officer's cap stepped through the throng, offering us both a quick salute. "The Knight of Force and the Thane of Breath, unless my eyes deceive me?" he asked.

"Nope, no eye-deceiving goin' on here," Theo replied. "The White King sends his compliments."

"I'm the battalion commander, here," the officer said to us. "You Heroes best be on your way; we're falling back to the tertiary line! That airstrike gave us the time we needed to start pulling our boys out-"

"_Sir!_" The operative manning the last remaining wireless rose to his feet suddenly, beckoning the battalion commander over to his station. "Sage Company Commander on the channel."

As Theo and I headed back outside, I was able to catch snippets of the conversation between the battalion commander and his subordinate officer…but there was one word I heard multiple times.

_Behemoths_.

"Holy son of a fuck, _look_ at those things!" Theo exclaimed, pointing towards the front lines. I stepped out from behind the command post tent and nearly shat myself right then and there.

There were no less than half a dozen…_things_…advancing towards the retreating Prospitians. They loomed well over a hundred feet into the air. They had four massive legs with giant, almost hoof-like feet. They had elongated bodies…and their heads resembled those of horses. That was it, they looked like massive, robotic, black horses.

"Knights…" Theo murmured.

I have no idea where they came from. The Dersite must've had them in reserve, behind the hills in the distance, saving them for when the Prospitians could be utterly crushed. With the brown-coated soldiers no longer manning their defenses, they suddenly found themselves to be highly exposed and vulnerable…certainly in no position to repulse an attack on such a scale.

The first of the retreating Prospitians were making their way through this camp, and we could see the panic in their faces as they kept glancing over their shoulders, constantly looking at how much closer the behemoths were looming. I don't know what kind of weapons those knights had mounted on them, and I really didn't want to find out.

I grabbed Theo by the sleeve. "How the fuck are we gonna stop those things?"

"I have an idea. C'mon!" Theo shrugged me off and summoned the power of his Aspect. A stiff breeze swept through the command post as Theo launched himself into the sky, floating on the wind. I flew up after him, allowing the weightless, feathery feeling of dream self flight to overtake me.

"What are you doing?" I called out to Theo, hovering up alongside him, ignoring the energy bolts that were beginning to sear through the air around us.

Theo was scanning the ground below, searching for something. It didn't take him long to find it, and he pointed. "There!" he shouted, making the breeze carry him down towards what I saw was a group of Prospitian tanks, retreating along with the infantry. All I could do was follow him, still unaware of what exactly he was planning to do.

Theo made landfall directly on top of one of the tanks. The Prospitian armor was retreating backwards, with their fronts facing the Dersite advance. Tank armor was weakest in the rear, so I guess it made a lot of sense for them to retreat in reverse. I hovered in the air above Theo, but I didn't actually land. I was curious to see what Theo would do.

My friend crouched down, banging on the tank's hatch. After a few moments, the hatch was unsealed, and a grimy, soot-covered Prospitian stuck his head and shoulders out of the cupola. "What is the meaning of-"

"We gotta take those big fuckers down!" Theo shouted.

"We tried!" the tank commander answered, clearly trying to maintain the façade of patience. He wanted Theo off his tank, but wasn't quite ready to shout at a Hero. "Their armor is too strong; our rounds cannot pierce it!"

"So aim for the knees!" Theo gesticulated wildly, almost on the verge of climbing down into the tank himself.

"Now look here, I will not be given orders by anyone other than my superior-"

The tank commander was not able to say anything else, because Theo seized him by the shoulders and yanked him out of the cupola, jumping through the open hatch into the tank below. I have no idea what he was doing in there—all I could hear was Theo shouting at the top of his lungs, interspersed with the softer, more chattery tones of the Prospitian crewmen inside. My friend must've been able to convince them to follow his advice, however, for the tank's main cannon started rising up until it was aiming straight at one of those behemoths.

I plugged my ears with my fingers just before the tank's main cannon fired. I mean, I've never exactly been around a tank when it fired its main cannon, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell me that it would probably be loud as fuck. Which it was—even though I covered my ears, I still wanted to curl up and die for a few minutes to relieve the ringing in my head.

I looked up and saw the round fired from the tank impact one of the advancing knights' knee joints. The behemoths had nearly reached the Prospitian foxholes and trenches, by now. Bits of armor and other bodily matter went flying, and the leg visibly wobbled, but it was still relatively intact.

"_Again! Hit it again!_" I heard Theo howl.

The tank opened fire a second time, striking the behemoth in the exact same place. Second time was the charm, in this case. The knight's knee joint was blown to smithereens. Suddenly destabilized by the loss of one of its limbs, the behemoth keeled over to the side and fell, slamming into the ground in an explosion of fire, metal, and bits of melted, charred black carapace.

The message must have been relayed to all the other armored units in the area, because next thing I knew the rest of the horse-like behemoths were getting absolutely pounded all over their legs. They opened fire with their weapons, which were similar to the energy cannons that the bishop had attacked Theo and me with, back at Outpost 34-W. Giant beams of destructive, crackling white energy roared into ground. Some of them struck the retreating Prospitians—wherever they hit, there was nothing left afterwards.

Still, though…while the tanks were not fast enough to save those unfortunate Prospitians, they _were_ fast enough to save everyone else. One by one, the advancing Dersite behemoths had their legs blown off and crumpled to the ground. New columns of smoke began to waft into the air.

Theo hopped out of the tank, ignoring the shitstorm of profanity being leveled at him by the tank commander he'd displaced. The tank commander did not remain very long, though. He climbed back into his tank and resumed the retreat before Theo got it into his mind to not take any more crap from him.

I floated back down to the ground, falling in step with Theo as we followed the tanks. Before long, the Prospitians retreating from the foxholes and trenches caught up to us, and we were all pulling back in a giant group.

I didn't like being on the retreating side, and it was putting me into a bit of a sour mood. As we followed the tanks and Prospitian soldiers, though, I couldn't help but crack a grin at my friend. "You got that idea from Halo 3, didn't you," I gave a slightly accusing chuckle.

"You know me so well."


	33. IV Chapter 33: Walk Through the Woods

Chapter Thirty-Three: Walk Through the Woods

The Northern clans live in villages, similar to the Treefolk. Their buildings, however, were made of a combination of stone and wood, as opposed to the simple wooden wigwam-esque structures of the Western Fires. Their villages were larger, too…resembling towns more than villages, if you asked me.

Another difference between the Northern towns and the villages of the Treefolk were the palisades that surrounded the town. Northern towns had walls surrounding them, most likely to protect them from the swarms of underlings.

The town I'd been taken to by Aiyana was the central settlement of Clan Unagwe, one of the larger Northern clans. Most likely because of its status as the central settlement, this particular town had an entire Dersite fort built on a nearby hill. The consorts told me that tribute was constantly paid to the Dersites in the fort. If the tribute were ever _not_ to be paid, the Dersites would then come down to the town in force and wreck some shit. Sometimes they did this for no reason at all.

I could understand why K'eyush and Tlanextic had wanted me to help them drive the Dersites from the North before they joined the march on Hyperion—the Dersites really had a hold over these guys. Not nearly as tight a grip as they'd held the Desert Fires in, way back in the days of slavery and quarries, though…no, they seemed to have learned their lesson: treat your prisoners like something even less than shit, and one day they will fucking end you.

I don't know if the Northerners ever tried rebelling—knowing my consorts, they probably have—but from what I could see today, they seemed to be adopting a watching and waiting policy. Slowly, stealthily building up their strength, planning for the downfall of the Dersites under Hyperion's control, all the while waiting…

Waiting for me. The Old One predicted that I would be the one to stand up to Hyperion, so I guess the Northerners—being the most pragmatic and logical of the three tribes, from what I could see—reasoned that any attempt to overthrow Hyperion before my arrival would end in failure.

After I woke up, Aiyana took Scales and me up to the town above—the cavern where we had met with K'eyush and Tlanextic had been located far beneath the blacksmith's forge. We met Inuyyak, the muscular, violet-scaled giant who seemed to follow Aiyana around wherever she went, and the four of us sneaked across the palisades before the daylight grew too bright. There weren't any Dersite guards, or anything, but we still wanted to avoid all possible detection.

I mean, if the Northerners heard about me traveling towards the northern hills, then the Dersites would definitely have heard about it, too. They'd be on the lookout. And while I'm more than capable of handling myself against Dersites… I'd much rather be handling them while at the head of a massive army of pissed-off consorts, instead of on my own.

And so, right now I found myself vanishing into a thickly wooded region of the northern hills, dubbed 'The Bear's Thicket' by Aiyana. She explained that it was the closest thing the North had to a forest. When Hyperion's conquest of the northern hills was nearly complete, the last of the warriors who refused to yield rallied to the call of a consort named Krenerkasaktok—goddamn, and I thought the _Sand Dweller_ names were weird ones; these Inuit-themed Northerner names were making my brain throb.

Krenerkasaktok was a violet-scaled giant who was, in his time, the chieftain of Clan Unagwe, as well as the only chieftain who was still alive by the end of Hyperion's conquest of the northern hills; all of his counterparts from the other clans had been killed. He was nicknamed 'The Bear' because of his massive stature and strength—Inuyyak claimed to be a descendant of the Bear, which I found easy to believe. With the last of the Northerner warriors, the Bear made a final stand in these woods, holding out against Hyperion's underling swarms and Dersite troops for several years before he was killed, along with every last warrior who had stood with him.

I guess if there was one thing to be learned from that story, it was the possible existence of bears in this region of my planet, the Land of Rain and Rivers. I didn't see why this would be impossible—after all, we also had buffalo and cardinals. There was no rule stating that cobras were the only sentient creatures here; merely the most intelligent.

Well, if there were bears here, I honestly hoped we never ran into any of them.

"Remind you of home?" I glanced over at Scales, gesturing at the trees.

"Hardly," the red-scaled consort sniffed. "Thiss place iss a naked sskeleton when held next to the Knightswood or the Shadowed Forest."

"Ever the forest critic, I see…" I remarked.

I mean, I thought these woods were pretty nice. No, they weren't as thick or widespread as the giant western forests, but they were still pretty nice. Streams and creeks trickled through the trees, the ground was matted with moss, ferns, and other kinds of foliage. I could see the red-feathered cardinal birds nesting in the treetops, which was unusual because the cardinals usually tended to stay above the rainclouds. The sound of the rainfall pattering softly against the leaves and branches of the trees, before dripping down into the moss below, was very relaxing.

I was surprised I was able to feel relaxed at all. I mean, what we were doing here…traveling through an underling-infested land to reach the High Council Fire, so we could get the clan chiefs of the Northern Fires to begin their own little uprising against the Dersites…well, it was a slightly high-pressure mission, don't you think? And yet, a little thing like the sound of rainfall was able to calm me down.

I've always been a rain person. You'd find me ten times more likely to go outside in a rainstorm than I ever would on a sunny day. I always viewed it as Mother Nature's way of saying, '_Hey, guys, take a breather._' Maybe it was because, as a bit of a lazy student, I felt less shitty when I did jack shit on a rainy day as opposed to doing jack shit when it was sunny and beautiful outside.

But enough about the weather.

As we hiked through the woods, I practiced conjuring fire. I would spread my palms, focus on my Aspect… I could feel them, somehow, all the little atoms that made up the air above my hands. I focused on my Aspect, generating the kinetic energy required to excite the atoms, causing them to vibrate faster and faster, creating heat…and eventually, flame. I wondered if it was actually possible to create flame like this back in the real world, back…back on Earth, or if it was just another one of the mind-numbing oddities of the incipisphere.

I would sprout small flames over my palms. I would then make them explode into giant geysers of fire, sending the flames jetting up many yards into the air. While I normally might have been worried about starting a forest fire…this was a planet where it perpetually rained. Fires weren't a very big problem, here.

After practicing for a little while, I started to experiment. I started increasing the frequency at which I would make the atoms vibrate—not necessarily generating more kinetic energy…but generating more _powerful_ kinetic energy…if that made sense. Almost like throwing a larger rock, as opposed to a handful of smaller pebbles. The result of my experiments was a much hotter, more concentrated flame that almost appeared to be white. I kept messing around with the manner in which I was generating the kinetic energy, finding that I could even modify the shape of the flames, to a certain degree. With enough practice, I'd probably be able to make a blowtorch-like flame.

Scales watched me play around with fire with varying levels of interest. Well, no, that's not quite right; Scales was _incredibly_ interested, but he was Scales. He wasn't gonna stare at me slack-jawed, or anything. After a short while, he slithered up next to me, falling in step with me. "Only our elderss can wield fire as you do, and even then only after a lifetime of honing their craft," he observed soberly. "And now here you sstand, wielding fire with the sskill of an elder, when it wass not sso very long ago that the creation of even a tiny sspark wass beyond your sskill or undersstanding."

"Well, uh…yeah," I shrugged, closing my palms and extinguishing the flames. I mean, I didn't know what I was supposed to say to that—it was an observation, and a _correct_ one at that. Was there really anything I could do besides agree with him?

"What I wish to know iss how you learn sso quickly?"

Another shrug from me. "I dunno, I guess… I mean, I kinda just…_understand_ it. When I get better with my Aspect—sorry, my _Vis_—I just start _understanding_ more and more about how it works," I replied, giving Scales a much better answer than I was expecting. When I saw that he wasn't following, I decided to try and probably fail at explaining the Force Aspect. "What do you know about your Vis? How does it work?"

Scales had an easy answer for that. "It is the physical manifestation of our will," he started to explain. "It is our link with the world around us-"

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds really interesting and everything," I tried not to yawn, "but you still haven't answered my question. You're telling me what your Vis is, but not how it _works_. How exactly can you move objects or create fire just by _focusing_ on something? That doesn't make sense. How does it work?"

Scales opened and closed his mouth several times, obviously trying to find a way to answer me, but coming up painfully short. I could understand why, though. It would be like an optometrist asking me how I could see. I would answer, '_with my eyes'_. Then the optometrist, to whom the study of the eyes was a profession, would say that it was in fact due to the brain being able to process visible light via the optic nerve. But _I_ wouldn't have known that because seeing through my eyes is just a part of who I am.

Asking Scales how his Vis worked would yield the same result—his answer being simply '_with my mind'_. My answer would be that it was in fact due to our ability to generate kinetic energy through the manipulation and subsequent conversion of the latent potential energy contained within all objects, allowing us to propel those objects through space…or stop them by _removing_ kinetic energy, converting it back to potential energy. That very same energy could be applied to create fire, which I've already explained…but the challenge was to try and explain the process to someone who had absolutely no idea of the ideas and workings of physics, and-

Jesus H. Christ, _listen_ to me… I had to work hard to keep from flunking out of my science classes all throughout High School, and now here I was prattling on about elementary physics? It was very subtle, all this knowledge I had that I hadn't possessed a month ago—I never realized it was there until I started trying to explain shit about the Force Aspect, and then suddenly, _**BAM!**_ Fucking physics encyclopedia starts pouring outta my mouth.

"Okay, uh…the first thing you have to understand is that everything you see—water, air, grass, trees—is made of tiny little objects called atoms," I started to explain. Scales was giving me a _what the fuck_ look already, so I simplified. "Okay, what is mud made of?"

"Water and earth," Scales answered evenly. "That iss ssimple."

"Right, you combine water and dirt, and you get mud," I nodded. "But what is _water_ made of?"

Scales blinked. "Nothing. Water iss water."

"_False,_" I grinned. "Water is made of _atoms_. All the components of dirt are also made of atoms. I am made of atoms, you are made of atoms. _Everything is made of atoms!_ They're incredibly tiny, though—not something you can see. Imagine a beach…billions and billions of grains of sand together form one beach. Then look at the sand…billions and billions of these 'atoms' form a single grain of sand."

Scales blinked again, several times. "How can ssomething be sso ssmall?"

"What do these tiny building blockss have to do with our Vis?" Aiyana, who I'd had no idea was listening in on my little science lesson, queried.

"It matters because when they move in a certain way, heat is produced," I explained, realizing suddenly that my consorts probably wouldn't immediately know what vibration was, so I'd have to figure out another way to explain _that…_ But that could come later. "And if you can wrap your mind around this idea, making fire becomes pretty damn easy!"

"_Quiet, little Knight!_" Inuyyak hissed suddenly from up ahead, shutting me up. Yeah, that's what he called me…still, it was better than 'little shit', I guess. The violet-scaled cobra's head was pressed down to the earth, much like a normal snake, but upon giving his warning he straightened back up. "Underlingss are near."

I looked around and saw that we were in a small clearing with nowhere to hide, so we all booked it for the trees. The four of us found some nearby bushes and dove into the leaves, making sure we were all covered up. Aiyana coiled herself up a tree, though—her brown scales allowed her to almost perfectly blend in with the bark. From there, she could tell us what was going on.

She didn't tell us, though; at least, not with her voice. Instead, she started to make a series of quick, convoluted signs with her tail that I couldn't comprehend. I didn't have to, though, because Inuyyak seemed to know exactly what she was signaling.

"Impss," he murmured to Scales and me. "Over a dozen of the little shitss. Besst to keep quiet and let them pass…"

"Why not just kill them?" I asked the violet-scaled brute. "We could absolutely _wreck_ those little fuckers, between the four of us."

But Inuyyak shook his head. "The underlingss are like animals, but they are ssmarter than they look," the violet-scaled consort rumbled under his breath so that his voice did not carry. "Packss of imps usually travel near to larger sswarms. They don't really report back to the sswarm; however, if they were to come under attack, every underling in a five mile radiuss will know we are here."

Okay, maybe I'll just sit tight for this one. After a minute or so, true to Aiyana's silent word, a small pack of maybe fourteen or sixteen imps skittered right through the clearing we'd just come through, all of them cackling and clicking their teeth and claws. They almost reminded me of feral dogs—their tongues were sometimes lolling out of the corners of their mouths, and they didn't really run so much as they bounded forward.

Unlike dogs, thank Christ, they did not seem to have a very keen sense of smell, because they bounded right past us, not once turning in our direction. I didn't even breathe for about a minute, remaining perfectly still, not moving a muscle. And after they were gone, I almost forgot to let myself breathe again until I suddenly realized I'd been holding my breath for too long, releasing it in a slightly explosive exhalation.

"How'd you see them coming from so far off?" I asked Inuyyak as I got back up to my feet, brushing the leaves, twigs, and dirt from my jeans and the remains of my shirt.

"I didn't ssee them, little Knight," the violet-scaled consort replied. "I heard their vibrationss in the ground."

Ah. So my consorts _did_ understand what vibration was. Maybe explaining Force-created fire wouldn't be quite as difficult as I thought it would be.

After we got back to it, continuing our northward push towards the High Council Fire, I waited until we'd all relaxed slightly before speaking again. "So, uh…sorry, but I'm a bit confused," I spoke to Aiyana, taking care not to trip on a tree root that almost caught my ankle. "No one ever really explained how someone from the Desert Fires is calling the shots up here."

"Tlanextic is the Faithful of my clan," Aiyana explained to me. "There are twenty Faithful—one in each of our clans, and they are all Sand Dwellers. We are led by our clan chiefss, but the Underground iss led by the Faithful—our clan chiefss would lead the resisstance themsselvess, but it would be impossible for them to lead ssuch double livess without being disscovered."

"Yeah, but why Sand Dwellers?" I continued to press for answers. "Why not just lead your own shit?"

"The Sand Dwellers have had experience with rebellion," Aiyana replied. "They were worsse than sslavess, when Hyperion'ss dogss forced them to exisst in those quarriess, and yet they were able to throw off their shackless. What ssort of people are we Northerners if we cannot do the ssame? And who better to help uss throw off our shackless than those who have already disscarded their own?"

Memories of my trip through time with Anna threatened to enter my mind. "You realize that none of those Sand Dwellers were alive when the Desert Fires rebelled? That was hundreds of years ago. And it was actually a Treefolk who was responsible for starting the Great Liberation," I pointed out, though I refrained from identifying Glimmering Scales as that Treefolk. That would've just caused a whole lot of unnecessary confusion.

"There iss more to thiss pact than you think," Aiyana went on to say. "Rarely have any of our three peopless ever cooperated with one another. After the death of the Old One, we fell into long periodss of conflict with each other… Let uss jusst ssay that both the Desert Fires and my own people have claim to the Golden Grasses. Perhapss if we help one another rid our land of Hyperion, we will not fall back into sstrife."

"Well when you put it that way…"

As we continued to forge deeper into the woods, Aiyana was the one to break the silence, this time. "How do you know sso much about the Great Liberation?" she asked me.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Would you believe me if I told you I was there?"

Aiyana blinked once. "No, I do not believe I would."

"Okay," I shrugged, sharing a quick glance with Scales. "Wouldn't really expect you to. So, not to be the proverbial little kid in the backseat of the car, but…how long will it take us to reach the High Council Fire?"

"One or two dayss' travel to the nearesst drop of the Nanuk River," the brown-scaled female answered me. "Then a further half-day until we reach our desstination."

Before she could say anything else, however, a low howl shattered the relatively ambience, which until now had comprised of a gentle breeze and the soft, omnipresent _tap-tap-tap-tap_ of the rainfall. My Roman Lightbowie appeared in my hand, and the three consorts' neck hoods flared out wide at the exact same time, all of their pupils narrowing to slits. They were spooked, too.

"_Ogre_…" Inuyyak breathed. "That may have been a pack leader…" The violet-scaled consort stopped moving and flattened his upper body to the ground, resting his lower jaw on the earth. After presumably listening to those vibrations of his for a few moments, he swore under his breath. "Underlingss heading thiss way…and a _lot,_ by the ssound of them."

"_Dark flame…_" Glimmering Scales swore. "How could they have caught our trail when the impss did not ssensse uss?"

"Could've been a banshee," Inuyyak suggested as we picked up the pace. "Ssometimess they track prey from the sskiess."

I wished I was my dream self. Then I could just fly up into the sky, hunt down the banshee that was fucking us over, and ram a fireball down its throat. End of story. Unfortunately, I _wasn't_ dreaming, right now. I was my regular old boring self, which made things a bit more challenging.

We sprinted through the woods, splashing through a small creek before approaching a giant grove of pine trees. I was glad none of the water had gotten into my shoes, but those positive thoughts were very short-lived. We reached the pine trees and crashed through the thick veils of green pine needles. I half-expected to stumble through the other side into Narnia—snow, the Lamp-post, child-abducting fauns, talking animals; all that fun shit. What we got instead was a small clearing, and a pack of about twenty-five or thirty imps, running towards us from the opposite direction. The imps burst into the clearing at the same time we did.

Our two groups stared at each other for a split-second—even the imps were surprised to see us. Their surprise did not last very long, though, before their primal instincts kicked in and they all started to bum-rush us.

I didn't even bother to ask if we should run or fight. These little shits were standing between us and a general _away-from-the-underling-swarm_ direction. If we wanted to keep evading the swarm behind us, we'd have to go through these imps. Good thing I could fight underlings worth a damn…a month ago, this would have posed quite a challenge. Now it was like exercise. Well, more like a cakewalk, even, considering the fact that I had three friends fighting alongside me.

I beheaded the first imp that jumped me with an underhanded stroke from my Bowie. I then brought my blade around and whipped it back to the right with a quick backhanded stroke, cleanly severing the head from the second imp's shoulders. The two dead imps dissolved into grist.

I was then set upon by a group of _four_ imps. Upping the ante, a bit… Ignoring the ache in my shoulder from where I'd gotten a mild laceration from an imp's claws, back when Scales and I first arrived here in the north, I tried to behead the first imp. It got botched, however, when the imp instinctively dodged to the side, resulting in my Bowie hacking through its shoulder and neck, momentarily getting lodged in the underling's chest. The second imp leaped at my back just as I tried yanking my blade free, unsuccessfully. I reflexively whipped around to face the imp—right hand still gripping my Bowie—and thrust out my left hand, seizing the imp with my Aspect. Having no time to react before I was attacked again, I hurled that imp into one of its friends, sending both underlings crumpling to the ground in a daze.

The fourth imp was nearly upon me, by then, but the imp who I'd nearly sliced in half dissolved into grist by then, releasing my Bowie. I didn't go for a decapitation, this time. Instead, I simply took a step back and pressed the small button concealed within the Bowie's grip, activating the transparent red energy field that enveloped the blade—that was the lightsaber portion of my composite weapon. I needed to do this because, while the blade of my Bowie had been given a length and weight increase after alchemization, it still wasn't enough for the strike I was about to do—not, that is, without the energy field.

My Bowie came straight down on the imp's skull, and the lightsaber energy allowed it to burn straight through with the ease of a really good table saw eating through plywood. The thing about the energy field was that it only had a limited amount of energy—it could give me one or two good strikes before it would deactivate, remaining dormant until it recharged. In this case, it was more than enough to absolutely wreck this imp's skull. Another explosion of muted blue units of build grist.

By then, the two stunned imps were back on their feet, joined by an additional three. God damn, I think I'm currently eating my own words, when I said this would be a cakewalk. Normally it _would_ be, but just the sheer frequency at which these imps were attacking me… I was being tired out by numbers. My reaction times were good, but not godly…

I gutted the next imp to attack me, executing a swift jab and impaling the little shit through the abdomen. It gave a loud screech of agony before dissolving into grist. I recovered from the thrust and turned to face the remaining four imps leaping at me at the exact same time. I was good with knives, but four targets at once… Again, I'm good, but not godly. Luckily, fire happened to be my bitch. So I used fire.

I focused on my Aspect and blasted white-hot flames from my left-hand fist and forearm, engulfing and roasting one of the leaping imps while I snapped my Bowie through the neck of a second underling. My strike was slowed by the second imp's neck, so when it hit the third imp, it was not a death blow. It simply sheared off its arm and buried itself into the small underling's side.

I let go of my Roman Lightbowie and dropped to the ground. The last imp overshot, landing on the other side of me. I rolled away and quickly jumped back to my feet, springing over to where the third imp had fallen. I brought my heel down on its skull—the wounded imp's body was transmuted into grist before I could even register the sickening _crunch_. I recovered my Bowie and turned just in time to see the last imp flying right at my face—it had recovered faster than I expected.

My mind racing at the speed of light, I sidestepped the leaping imp. As it whipped past me, I seized it by the back of the neck with my free hand and, following its momentum, brought it slamming down into the ground. Before it could even react, I brought my knife down into its back once, twice, and then a third time. The third time, I stabbed it right through the back of its head, twisting the blade. The imp immediately turned into grist after that.

I took a deep breath, realizing that there were no more imps coming for me. I rose from my knees, watching as Inuyyak brutally finished off the final imp by coiling around its body, baring his fangs, sinking his teeth into the imp's head. He then tore the imp's head right off its shoulders, sending blood and bits of bodily matter flying.

Scales and Aiyana had been busy, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd seen them fighting back to back, keeping the imps at arm's length with their swords while Inuyyak brutalized the underlings all on his own. Man, I would never want to be on the opposite side of a war with my consorts…there wasn't much left of many of the imps that had gone up against my three companions. The other underlings had been quite literally sliced to pieces.

"Come, little shitss, we musst keep moving!" Inuyyak thundered.

I was hearing more howls, now, from many directions. Inuyyak was absolutely right; we had to _move_. And so, we set off at a sprint once again, praying that we didn't run into any more packs of underlings along the way. We couldn't afford to get slowed down again.

We kept on running and running until I lost track of time. Eventually, after evading several more roving packs of imps and constantly keeping ahead of the swarms of underlings behind us, we splashed through yet another creek, raced up a steep hill…and came across a sheer cliff. I mean, it wasn't the cliff itself that captivated my interest…it was the cave _in_ the cliff face, set twenty to thirty feet off the ground. _That_ caught my interest.

_Shelter_.

Aiyana had the same idea, too. "Into the cave!" she shouted. "Underlingss cannot climb very well; we will be ssafe there!"

We raced across the final stretch of woods between us and the cliff face. There was another stream that we had to cross—I hopped from stone to stone with varying success, though I ended up slipping at the last stone before I reached the opposite bank. I didn't fall, or anything, but I got my foot wet, which soured my mood a little.

When we reached the cliff face, the howls that had been pursuing us since late morning were closing in. We had to get into that cave, and sharpish. Scales and the others threw themselves up against the cliff face, manipulating their way around the ledges and makeshift handholds, worming their way up the cliff face with an agility I wouldn't have imagined cobras to have. Scales, used to scaling the trees of the Knightswood, was by far the fastest climber—Aiyana and Inuyyak had to take their time.

As for me, I just said '_fuck it_' and focused on my Aspect, using it to lift me up into the air. I levitated myself slowly, keeping pace with Scales as he climbed. I reached the cave entrance in about thirty seconds, using my Aspect to gently push myself forward into the mouth, landing lightly on both feet. I turned around and crouched down at the edge of the cave mouth. One by one, my consorts reached the cave mouth, and I helped them up. Luckily, Inuyyak came last, because Scales and I _both_ had to help the violet-scaled brute into the cave mouth.

As we hauled Inuyyak up, I could finally spot the swarms that had been chasing us. Dozens of ogres, hundreds of imps…they all roiled out of the trees like a thundercloud exploding out of a sunny sky. A thundercloud full of claws and very sharp teeth. Boy, they sure could move fast…

The first ogres and imps to reach the cliff face below leaped up at the rocks, trying to pull themselves up to us. My insides clenched up as I watched them attempt to climb up…but then relaxed when I saw that none of them were able to climb more than five feet without slipping and falling back to the earth, no matter how hard or frequently they tried.

We were safe.

I released the breath that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. I sank down to the ground and rested my head and back on the cave wall, breathing in deeply, trying to get my heart rate to go down. Deep breaths, deep breaths…relaaaaaax…

I turned my head towards the cave mouth, listening to the growling and howls coming from the swarm of monsters outside, waiting to get a nice, wet chomp out of all of us. "Okay…" I turned back to the two Northerners. "So now what?"


	34. IV Chapter 34: The King's Airfield

Chapter Thirty-Four: The King's Airfield

I knew I was back in my dream turret in the White Keep when I woke up, because the first thing I saw was the green stones that made up the ceiling. Green stones meant the White Keep. I pushed back the covers, lacing my hands behind my head and taking a moment to relax for a little bit. My dreams were no longer the fun, adventurous distractions that they used to be.

In many ways, my time as my dream self was even _more_ stressful than my waking hours. When I wasn't trying to get all my consorts to march on my Denizen, I was busy fighting in the middle of a furious war between the Dersite and Prospitian armies. I mean, I only have myself to blame for this—no one held a gun to my head and forced me to leave Prospit… _I_ was the one who wanted to leave, so I could make a difference, or _do_ something to help besides flying around stoned and watching pretty Skaian clouds, or some shit…

I almost felt like going back to sleep. My dream turret felt nice and warm, and my golden Prospit pajamas were some of the most comfortable clothes I've ever worn in my life. But I didn't go back to sleep… Nothing was waiting for me back on the Land of Rain and Rivers but a drafty cave surrounded by hungry underlings.

Summoning the willpower necessary to get up, I floated up out of my bed. I nearly went straight out the window, as I usually did, but before I got too far I noticed a yellow post-it note stuck onto the screen of my dream computer. I dropped back to the floor and stepped over to my desk, plucking the note from my computer.

_**Bro. Go to the White King when you get this. Shit's going down.  
>-Theo<strong>_

Well, alrighty then. Instead of flying out my window, I walked down the stairs in the corner of my turret, descending down into the corridor that led to the transportalizer room. It was a small chamber, set in the dead center of the White Keep. My corridor was on the western side of the chamber, the Force Aspect symbol emblazoned on a large stone over the entrance. The Space, Time, and Life Aspect symbols identified the other three corridors.

In the middle of the chamber was a transportalizer pad, which I stepped onto, ignoring the usual nausea and dizziness that accompanied that form of teleportation. I blinked and found myself standing in a different room. It was also a small chamber, large enough only for this transportalizer pad. The door actually opened up into the White King's throne room/library, hidden behind a book of shelves.

I strode out into the book-filled throne room. To my surprise, Theo was still here with the White King—both of them were poring over some sort of map that had been spread out over the White King's mahogany desk. Both of them also seemed surprised to see _me,_ as well.

"Greetings, Knight!" the White King beckoned for me to come over and join.

"Hey, dude," Theo waved, turning back to the King's desk. "You're up a lot earlier than usual! I was expecting to be long gone by the time you got my note."

So, there was the source of the surprise. "Yeah, I ended up going to sleep early back on my planet," I murmured, glancing down at the map on the desk. "I'm currently trapped in a cave with a fuckload of underlings outside trying to get a bite of me. Nothing to do but catch some 'z's 'till shit quiets down."

"Sounds like you're having quite an adventure, then!" Theo chuckled. "What're your consorts making you do this time?"

"Oh, nothing much," I shrugged. "I just have to travel through an underling-infested region of hills to get to the leaders of one of my consort tribes, so I can tell them that I'm the Knight and they need to get their shit together. Then we can march on my denizen."

"Well, you've definitely made some progress, then," Theo grunted. "I think Cass is the only other one who's close to fighting her denizen-" Theo was interrupted by the White King clearing his throat. "Right, sorry," Theo cleared his _own_ throat, getting back on task. He directed my attention to the map. "This is a map of grid sector—you know what? The grid sector ain't all that important. What matters is that _this-_" Theo tapped a landmark on the map, represented as a light blue circle. "-is the King's Airfield. And the Dersites are gunning for it."

"The Browncoats are leading the defense, _here_…" the White King pointed to a dotted line that had been drawn across a line of hills to the south of the airfield. "You may remember the Browncoats—they were the soldiers who you helped rescue on the last sortie you went out on with the Thane."

I remembered all the soldiers who'd been huddled in the foxholes and trenches when Theo and I had flown out on Prospitian gunships. If memory served, they'd actually been wearing brown uniforms, so the White King wasn't just making an offhand Firefly reference. "Yeah, I remember them…pretty tough bastards."

"Tough bastards indeed!" the White King chuckled jovially. "There are three divisions defending the airfield, including the Browncoats. The Dersites are attacking from the south and southwest. Another Dersite force is attempting to hit the airfield from the east, but their passage has been halted within the Cloudy Mountains."

"Okay, let me get something straight…why, if the airfield is so important to the war effort, are there only three divisions defending it?" I got right to the crux of the matter.

The White King visibly winced at my question. "The Dersites' behemoths," his answer was. "We have taken more losses than I would care to admit, due to the Dersites' behemoths…because of their war machines, the Black King is able to commit less of his ground forces to any one assault, which in _turn_ allows him to attack us on many fronts at once."

"We're spread too damn thin, man," Theo explained. "Only thing keepin' everything together is the Royal Air Force; and if we lose the airfield, we lose the Air Force."

"What about the Navy?" I asked. When I was met with blank stares, I pressed onward. "Isn't there supposed to be a Prospitian Navy?"

"We do have a Navy, yes," the White King nodded. "They are beyond contacting, however—the Skaian clouds wreak havoc on radio signals. And even if I could contact the Admiral, it would do us no good. He cannot disengage from fighting the Dersite Navy, lest dominance of the skies falls to the Black King. It's a completely different kind of battle, altogether."

Theo and I glanced at each other and said, "_It's a completely different kind of battle,_" in unison. Oh man, I was so happy he was thinking the same thing.

"I beg your pardon?" the White King looked up at us, blinking several times in confusion.

"It's from _Airplane!-_" Theo started to say, but I cut him off.

"Don't worry about it. You were saying?"

"Yes, as I was saying, the defense of the airfield is being headed up by the Browncoats, but I want both of you to help them in any way you can," the White King concluded for us. "I do not believe I have to tell you how vital the airfield is to the war effort. Should it fall…"

"We got the message, don't you worry 'bout that," Theo reassured the King. "You coming with us?"

"No," the White King shook his head, pausing briefly to light up another cigarette. "The Black King is threatening this keep from the northeast—I must see to the defenses here, and I must also be around to deal with all of the other fronts…do what you can for the Browncoats. Protect the airfield. A pilot will be waiting for you outside. Best of luck."

Theo and I left without any further discussion, exiting the throne room and walking down the grand hall towards the White Keep's entrance doors. I spared a glance over my shoulder as we headed back outside. "King doesn't seem to be in very good spirits, anymore," I remarked. I'd noticed how much more tired the White King had seemed… When I first met him, he acted almost like an eccentric librarian, but now…he just seemed tired.

"He's been dealing with attacks from the Black King almost nonstop for a month," Theo replied. "It's only gotten exponentially worse since the behemoths started showing up. The Prospitian Army is spread way too thin."

"They're gonna lose, Theo," I murmured.

"Huh?"

"The Prospitians," I clarified. "They're gonna lose this war. I spoke with the White Queen, and she spouted some bullshit about Prospit being destined to lose to Derse. I didn't really believe her, at first…but with all the shit that's been happening here… Prospit is _losing,_ dude."

"Well, yeah." Theo nodded. "We all knew that from the beginning—oh, you know what? That's shit we're supposed to learn from our sprites; that's why you didn't know."

"Okay, that makes more sense…" I grumbled, not too happy at encountering _yet another_ 'I didn't know this because instead of helping me, like it was supposed to, my Sprite went psycho and tried to kill me' situation. I wondered how fucking awesome I'd be at all this Sburb shit if I'd actually gotten a _helpful_ Sprite. A _normal_ Sprite, that is…

"Still, though…" I did not feel satisfied. "That means that everything you and I are trying to do here is pointless."

"Well, if the Prospitians were able to mess up the Black King all by themselves…there wouldn't be very much call for Heroes, then, would there?" Theo countered.

"I guess not…" I murmured. "But still. At least on my planet, I'm working towards something. I'm not destined to go through all the trouble of uniting my consorts, fighting through everything Hyperion can throw at me, only to have him just stab me in the chest, or some shit. Everything I'm doing with my consorts will amount to something; not just a predestined failure. Here, though…we're just helping these soldiers out so they can get slaughtered tomorrow."

As we stepped out of the White Keep and onto the broad, marble stairs leading down to the greens below, Theo was silent for a few moments. Then he turned to me and said, "Take some antidepressants, bro. You're makin' me sad."

"Oh, you think _this_ is depressed?" I arched an eyebrow. "You haven't even seen me when I start thinking about home. Our _real_ home, the one we all left behind. If I didn't have so much shit to deal with, I'd be drinking myself to oblivion every night."

Wow, okay…um… I really didn't mean to go all Johnny Raincloud on my best friend, there. But I spent so much time bottling those thoughts and emotions up that whenever they rose to the surface…they tended to be slightly explosive. A psychiatrist would probably tell me that repressing emotions was extremely unhealthy for the psyche…but you know what? Fuck it! All the psychiatrists were dead.

"Sorry, dude, I…" I started to apologize to Theo, but he threw an arm around my shoulder, nearly knocking me off-balance.

"No need for apologies, bro!" my best friend said to me. "I shouldn't have poked fun. Pressure's gettin' to everyone, one way or another… Hey, there's our pilot," Theo released me when we reached the bottom of the marble stairs.

A shorter Prospitian dressed in a tan aviator jacket, emblazoned with the symbol of the Prospitian Royal Air Force, approached us, exchanging salutes with the Royal Guards who were pulling sentry duty. "Knight, Thane." He nodded to both of us. "I am your ride to the Airfield. Are you ready to leave?"

"Born ready." Theo flashed another one of his grins.

The pilot led us to a small gunship and got us up in the air within five minutes. The trip to the Airfield took us, like last time, not much longer than twenty minutes with the gunship moving at its fastest possible speed. To save on time, Theo and I did not even wait for the pilot to land. We thanked the flight officer and jumped right out the side openings.

Theo landed with a mighty gust of concentrated wind cushioning his fall. I simply lighted upon the ground with my feet, floating gently down with my dream flight. I'd gotten a good look of the Airfield from the gunship—it was just that; a giant field filled with Prospitian aircraft. There were several buildings—barracks, the control towers, etc.—as well as a giant tarmac for the fighter jets to launch from.

We landed in the field right next to the tarmac, causing some mild surprise to a group of pilots who were returning from a sortie. They didn't exactly jump out of their carapaces, though—the soldiers never did. Wasting no time, Theo retrieved the captchalogue card containing Little Blue from his wallet sylladex, tossing it onto the ground and allowing my blue 2001 Ford Focus to spring suddenly into existence.

"You know the way?" I asked Theo, catching the keys as he tossed them to me.

"Yeah, I know the general direction." When I gave him a look, he shot one right back. "Well it ain't like we're going to any specific place; we're going to wherever the Prospitians are, and I know the direction the fighting is in. It's not like we have to navigate around a canyon, or anything."

I was already climbing into the car and starting the engine. Theo clambered into the passenger seat, and we were off. The King's Airfield was surrounded on two sides—the west and the north, as well the immediate southeast—by tall, rugged hills filled with gorges and ridges—not necessarily impassable, but highly difficult to cross. Well, maybe I should amend that; it would be perfectly possible for a solo or small group of people to pass through, but impossible for an entire army. And the Dersites would not be able to do much to this place with anything short of an entire army.

I guess what I'd asked Theo had been a pretty dumb question. The White King, after all, had already told us that the Dersites were attacking the Airfield from the south. The south and southwest. And judging from the smoke that was rising into the sky in those directions…the White King's intel did not appear to be flawed.

I eased up on the gas a tad bit. Little Blue could travel pretty damn fast, what with the engine overhaul he'd gotten from Gwen, and I didn't want to accidentally start crashing through the Prospitian lines like the Blues Brothers on their vehicular rampage through that mall. The ground went down on a gradual decline as we put more and more distance between us and the Airfield.

As we drove closer to the front lines, I wondered to myself why, when the Prospitian Royal Air Force was stationed right freakin' _here,_ why the attacking Dersites weren't getting the living crap pounded out of them. The answer actually came to me less than a minute later, when I spotted a formation of six Prospitian fighter jets swooping down low, dropping their payloads on what could only be Dersite positions. But before they could even complete their pass, four of the six jets exploded suddenly in conflagrations of flame and metal fragments.

The Dersites had some pretty heavy anti-aircraft shit with them. That made a lot of sense, when I thought about it. When your enemy possesses a superior air force, and when you're gonna be attacking that air force's _base_…you'd better have some effective anti-aircraft guns in your arsenal, or else you'd get splattered before you could even blink.

The Prospitian lines, from what I could see, extended for several miles; most likely linking the hills west of the Airfield to the hills to the southeast of it. I could tell that the three divisions assigned to the defense of the Airfield had to be stretched pretty thin. Prospitian soldiers in brown trench coats lay in their foxholes and trenches, laying down fire on the advancing Dersites. Mortar teams called out angle and range calculations, machinegun teams moved their weapons from foxhole to foxhole, suppressing the Dersites wherever they attacked with the most force.

The ground had been utterly ruined by what I assumed was artillery fire from both sides. The airstrikes from the Prospitian Royal Air Force certainly can't have helped, either. Some of the Prospitian soldiers had actually used the craters torn into the ground by the artillery as shelter, expanding and deepening them. In many places, they even dug trenches to connect these craters, creating a loose network of defenses which, thus far, had been able to successfully hold back a large-scale assault.

The air hung thick and heavy, almost as if it were trying to smother the ground on which it sat. The acrid odor of smoke and hot metal clung to the wind, and I got a slightly metallic taste in my mouth every time I inhaled. The sky had turned into an ugly reddish-orange haze, the smoke adding to the already hellish atmosphere.

I didn't bother rolling up the windows—we wouldn't be inside very much longer, anyway; might as well get used to the air.

The part of the line Theo and I had stumbled across was currently under attack by Dersite commandoes. The remains of a behemoth—a bishop, by the looks of it—lay in a smoking ruin less than a mile from the trenches. Maybe that was what those ill-fated Prospitian fighter jets had destroyed in their final pass. The Dersite commandoes who'd been accompanying that behemoth, however, did not seem to have ceased their assault. They were still bearing down on the Prospitians, moving up from crater to crater, using the environment as cover, reinforced by tanks.

I muttered something naughty under my breath. "I don't suppose our turret has an anti-tank setting?" I asked my best friend, gesturing towards the energy cannon Theo had bolted onto Little Blue's roof.

"I mean, it ain't exactly an anti-tank setting," Theo started to explain. "Like, it can only expend a certain amount of energy per shot without exploding, and so its rapid-fire setting keeps its energy bolts smaller. If you were to let charge up for a few seconds, though, it could shoot a much larger bolt. You could only do this once ten or twenty seconds, though, so-"

"I don't give a shit how it works; just do it!" I cut him off, pressing the gas pedal down as far as it could go. The wheels screeched for a moment before they regained their purchase and sent us hurtling forward at speeds that should have been beyond this car's capability.

"You fuckin' serious, dude?" Theo exclaimed, gripping the handhold in the passenger-side door. "You're takin' us beyond the trenches?"

"Yeah, let's see if we can't take out a tank or three," I replied. "Give our boys in brown a helping hand, you know?"

"Yeah, and get blown up in the process, maybe?" Theo countered.

"C'mon, bro, don't tell me-" Whatever I was about to say was lost forever, because right then a tank shell struck the ground just to our right, nearly flipping us end over end. I fought with the steering wheel for control of Little Blue, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally got us stabilized, skidding to a full stop. "Okay, new plan: _fuck the old plan,_" I muttered, killing the engine and hopping out of the car. When Theo exited the car, I let him captchalogue Little Blue, storing the car on a small, harmless-looking card for later use.

We'd skidded to a halt just a few hundred yards away from a large tent that was colored with white and gray camouflage. Vehicles—normal jeeps, mostly—were ferrying wounded Prospitian soldiers from the tent back in the direction of the Airfield. The tent was an aid station, then. Well, that was as good a place to start as any…

Theo and I sprinted towards the field hospital. Theo ducked inside, instructing me to hang back—he was much better with the carapacians than I was. I twiddled my thumbs for about of minute while Theo spoke with whoever was in charge of the aid station. When my friend emerged from the entrance flap, he looked a little sick to his stomach. He gestured for me to follow him.

"Chief surgeon told me one of the Browncoats' brigade commanders has a tent not far to the west," Theo said to me as we sprinted in a general westward direction. We were much closer to the fighting, now. I could hear orders being shouted by the Prospitian soldiers—sergeants directing their units' fire, platoon leaders requesting artillery assistance, wounded soldiers screaming and swearing…it was chaos.

At one point, an enemy mortar strike nearly shredded us when it landed barely fifteen yards in front of us, just inside the weapon's blast radius. I was knocked off my feet. Theo nearly lost his balance, too, but he was able to remain standing, even as we were both showered with dirt. There was a new crater in front of us.

Theo helped me back onto my feet. "Gotta keep movin', bro! Let's go!"

It took us five minutes to find the tent of that brigade commander the chief surgeon had pointed Theo in the direction of. Only, it wasn't a tent anymore. All that was left of the tent was the remains of one of the ops tables that had been inside—everything else had been reduced to a smoking crater.

In the crater, however, was a tall Prospitian shouting into a radio. A crude tarp had been rigged up to provide some rudimentary camouflage, but none of the HQ equipment had survived, save the sole radio that the tall Prospitian was shouting into. There were several smaller, lithe soldiers running back and forth from the crater, delivering news to the tall Prospitian and then relaying it elsewhere. With the lack of radios, they seemed to be utilizing runners.

The tall Prospitian was wearing a tattered brown coat like the rest of his soldiers, though he also wore an ashen gray beret, emblazoned with the symbol of Prospit. His hands were clawed and he had sharp teeth.

"Heroes?" The Prospitian officer glanced up from his radio set, surprise clear on his face. We were clearly the last people he was expecting to see.

"You the brigade commander?" Theo asked him.

"Yes," the tall Prospitian replied. "Give me a second; I must report your arrival to the marshal…" The brigade commander raised his radio and spoke into it rapidly. I was only able to catch snatches of what he was saying, and it was not long before a reply was given to him from the other side of the radio. He turned his attention back to us. "You, Thane," he turned to Theo first, "you have experience dealing with behemoths?"

Memories of our first dealings with the Browncoats came to mind. Theo commandeering an armored platoon, using the tanks to effectively destroy an entire group of knight behemoths, Halo-style. I could probably do the same, but Theo had been the one to come up with the idea and execute it, and word of his victory had obviously gotten around.

When Theo affirmed this claim, the brigade commander gave a quick nod. He barked out a name, and one of his runners came scurrying over. "Take the Thane to the marshal's tent—he will take command of the armored group holding the center of our lines."

Theo's jaw nearly fell to the ground. "Tanks, what? Commanding tanks? I-"

"There is no time to argue, Thane; we need you at the marshal's position straightaway." The brigade commander gestured for the runner to lead Theo away. I hollered _good luck_ at him as he left. The tall Prospitian then turned his attention to me. "As for you, Knight, I've been ordered to send you east. The Rangers are attempting to mount a recon mission beyond the hills north of the Airfield, and they could use all the help they can get. You will be joining them."

I fought the urge to retort, '_Ask nicely._' Much as I was tempted to, this guy had obviously been dealing with a mountain of shit on a Himalayan scale, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.

One of the runners led me away from the makeshift command post, and we both sprinted parallel to the line of foxholes and trenches. Thankfully, no more mortar rounds landed anywhere near me—my ears were still ringing from that. The runner quickly took me further behind the lines and found us a jeep, and we used that to drive back north, eventually returning to the Airfield within ten minutes. I could've flown back in half that time, but I wouldn't know where to go when I got there, so I stayed with my chaperone.

Pilots were scrambling all over the place, trying to get their aircraft ready to fly. Many of them were still in the process of being refueled. "The White King has ordered the Air Force to begin evacuation measures for the Airfield," the runner informed me, noticing my questioning glances. "If the Dersites start breaking through, we want to be ready to save our aircraft."

Smart thinking, I guess. Always have a backup plan.

The runner sped me across the Airfield and dropped me off in front of one of the barracks buildings, wishing me luck before speeding back off in the direction of his brigade commander's command crater. I was left with a group of eight Prospitian soldiers dressed in brown-and-green camouflage fatigues and helmets. Their faces were also painted in an identical pattern of colors. They wore gloves and wielded energy rifles that reminded me of more modern-looking weapons, rather than the standard Prospitian energy rifle that resembled an M1-Garand. One of them had a long-range rifle, and the rest had weapons that looked like M16s.

These guys were the real deal. Not that the Prospitian soldiers of the infantry divisions were any less of a real deal, but _these_ guys… _Damn,_ they just radiated badassitude.

"You're the Rangers, then?" I spoke up before any of the soldiers could.

The tallest of the group—the soldier with the sniper rifle—stepped forward. A half-mask hung loose around his neck and he wore black sunglasses that didn't reflect the light. "Yes, we're part of the First King's Recon. You're the Knight, I'm assuming?"

I fought the sudden urge to blink in surprise; the soldier was a female. Not that I was surprised that women were fighting—I'd already seen my fair share of females serving in the Prospitian Army—but this soldier simply didn't look even remotely like a girl. Can't really blame myself for that, though; all that was visible of her was her face…and carapacians aren't quite as easy to tell apart gender-wise as humans.

"Yeah! Yeah, uh…yeah, I'm the Knight," I shook the female Ranger's hand, quickly regaining my composure. "And you are…?"

The female Ranger gave a slight shrug. "They call me the Pale Marksman," she replied. "Not the most original name, I suppose, but no less accurate for it. These are my men, and you will be accompanying us north of the hills. There, now we are all caught up with each other. Before we go anywhere, you are going to put these on." The Marksman tossed me a camo-pattern jacket and pants.

Again, I didn't complain as I slipped the combat clothing over my bloodstained Prospit pajamas. My golden-yellow pajamas would not exactly blend in with the environment, and if the Rangers ever came close to an enemy patrol…well, wearing bright clothing wasn't exactly the best way to evade detection. I pulled on the camouflaged jacket and pants, and within a minute the nine of us had set off at a moderately fast run, leaving the Airfield far behind us.

We forged ahead into the hills. The Rangers moved fast, and I knew I probably wouldn't have been able to keep up with them if not for my dream flight. After about half an hour of slogging through the foothills, the terrain grew much more inhospitable. It became an almost labyrinthine system of ridges and gorges. Sometimes the Rangers would leap across these gorges at narrow points. At other times, they would rappel down or climb up ridges when going around them was no longer an option.

To accomplish this, two of the Rangers were always carrying long lengths of rope on their backs. Just by studying them; their mannerisms, the way they moved and coordinated with each other… They were clearly the Prospitian Army's equivalent of Special Forces. As for me, I would simply fly up to the tops of the ridges, or float gently down to the bottom. Jumping over gorges wasn't an issue, either. Perks of being a dream self.

"So what's the deal, here?" I asked the female Ranger after we scaled what had to be the tenth or twelfth ridge. "What's going on north of these hills?"

The Pale Marksman was clearly irritated by my breach of silence, but she did not reprimand me for it. Maybe she was expecting me to ask questions. Honestly, I was surprised I'd managed to keep silent until now. "A large force of Dersites has been spotted north of our position by aerial recon," the female Ranger replied. "They are holding position and not joining in the attack."

"Why would they do that?" I asked. "If the Dersites already attacking the Browncoats and company were reinforced, the Airfield would get rolled up in nothing flat."

"Exactly." The Ranger nodded. "Something is wrong. And we are going to find out what. Now, please remain silent."

And with that, the Pale Marksman picked up her pace, moving ahead of me and effectively killing that fledgling of a conversation.

We made our way around a sheer cliff face in front of us and soon found ourselves walking double-file down a narrow, winding gorge. I ended up walking side by side with the shortest Ranger in the group, way at the back of the procession. I'm not sure how I was able to tell, but he seemed to be the most talkative member of the group, and I figured I'd get a better chance of finding out more information from him.

"So, I know you guys aren't s'posed to be talking, and all, but…you know anything about what's going on, here?" I whispered to the guy.

The Ranger gave a slight shrug. "All I know is that we're supposed to gather as much intel as possible on the Dersite force north of these hills," he answered, not really giving me anymore answers than what I already had. Then, he added, murmuring even more quietly, "Of course, it is probably something serious. The White King wouldn't have sent the Pale Marksman to lead us if he thought this was just another routine recon patrol."

"The Pale Marksman's a pretty big deal, then?" It wasn't hard to pick up on that vibe. "Shouldn't she technically be called the Pale Marks_woman?_"

"She used to be head of the postal service back home, if you could believe that," the Ranger remarked. "Bit of a feminist, though… Doesn't think there should be any distinction between males and females when it comes to titles. I wouldn't bring up the _markswoman_ thing within earshot, if I were you."

We didn't make it to the other end of the gorge. At a certain point, the Pale Marksman stopped the group and motioned for her two rope-bearers to secure a line to the top of the cliffs. The two Rangers jogged up into position, knelt down, and loaded the pitons into their rifles. They then took aim and shot the pitons up into the top of the cliff face—they'd been doing this for a long time, so their accuracy was spot-on.

With the ropes secured, the eight Rangers scaled the cliffs two-by-two. I floated up to the top of the cliff and waited for them to catch up. Once they reached the top, the two rope-bearers removed the pitons from the cliff face and re-coiled the ropes, stowing them on their backs. The Rangers were on the move again within ten seconds. These guys didn't mess around!

Before I knew it, we were crawling up a bushy hillside to the edge of a ridge. When we reached the edge of the ridge, instead of rappelling down to the ground, the Rangers all held position, taking out binoculars and gazing out at the land beyond.

Beyond the ridge, the terrain grew much more gentle and less sheer. No more ridges and gorges—just a region of grassy, gently sloping hills. And encamped on those hills, in the near distance, was a sizable force of Dersite commandoes. Many of them were not on duty—milling about the camps, resting, huddled around fires, eating their meals, exercising; doing whatever it was that off-duty soldiers did with their spare time. More of them were standing watch at the camp's perimeter.

But it was not the camp, nor its inhabitants that caught the Rangers' attention. I borrowed a pair of binoculars from one of the Rangers, taking a look for myself. In the very center of the camp, in the midst of all the tents and temporary buildings, barracks, and armories…there stood some sort of tall, obsidian-colored tower. It was covered with large objects that resembled satellite dishes… It looked like some sort of giant radio tower.

"What is that thing?" I asked.

"Some sort of radar device?" the Pale Marksman suggested, but the Ranger who I'd spoken with earlier gave a disagreeing grunt and shook his head.

"I recognize that from my days in the Gilded Rifles," the Ranger explained. "Darkies used 'em to mess with our Air Force during the campaign in the Cloudy Mountains last century. It's a jammer."

"Why all the hubbub for one jammer, then?" I voiced the obvious question that seemed to be on everyone's minds.

"The Dersites obviously do not want us to see something on our radar," the Pale Marksman did her best not to sound patronizing.

"Darkies can't be up to any good with it," my Ranger friend declared. "We should light it up."

"We cannot mount a direct assault." The Marksman nipped that notion in the bud, shooting the other Ranger a quick glare. Still, despite disagreeing with what the Ranger wanted to do, the Pale Marksman clearly agreed with the fact that the tower should be destroyed. "Too many hostiles, and the terrain is too exposed. So either we wait until nighttime, or…"

"…or we contact the Navy?" another of the Rangers suggested, catching on to his leader's line of thinking.

The Pale Marksman nodded. "We contact the Navy," she echoed, turning to the Ranger who bore the radio set. "See to it."

"Yessir." The radio-bearing Ranger unloaded his equipment and started to fiddle with it.

"I thought radio signals couldn't pass through the clouds." I frowned, recalling what I'd been told earlier when _I'd_ asked about the Prospitian Navy.

"Our radios are different," the Pale Marksman said. "Calculations have been made to compensate for the scrambling effect of the Skaian clouds. These modifications have been kept within the ranks of the Ranger Corps, however—we would not want the Dersites getting ahold of them."

"Sir, I've made contact with the White Admiral." The radioman gestured for the female Ranger to take his place at the communication device. The tall Ranger stepped over to the radio and started speaking quietly with whoever was on the other end. The conversation was brief and lasted less than two minutes, ending with the Marksman tossing the mic back to the radioman with a frustrated huff.

"The Navy has only a single frigate in a position to assist us," the Pale Marksman informed us. "The Admiral will not be able to assemble a battlegroup to help the Browncoats until tomorrow, and our window of opportunity with the frigate will close in six minutes, and then we'll have to devise a way to destroy that tower on our own." The female Ranger paused to take a breath, then turned her attention back towards the Dersite camp in the distance. "I am open to suggestions."

I raised my hand. "Okay, uh…why can't the Navy just pound the tower from orbit right now? We should just be breaking out lawn chairs to enjoy the fireworks!"

"The Skaian clouds," the Ranger operating the radio answered for me while the Pale Marksman rolled her eyes. "We are only barely able to get our radio signals through the clouds. The Navy's targeting systems for their heavy weapons are unable to acquire signal locks on targets below the Skaian clouds. So when we call in Naval assistance, we must acquire signal locks for their weapon systems using laser designators."

"Ah." I actually understood what he was talking about, much to my surprise. "Well, okay, then…let's break out the lasers and start the show!"

"We are out of range." The Pale Marksman was really trying not to lose her patience. Hey, you can't blame me for not knowing this shit—it's not like I've ever served in the armed fucking forces, or anything! The Marksman went on. "The laser designators must be within a thousand yards of a target for the Navy to acquire a signal lock, due to the interference from the clouds. It is not a perfect system, but this is why we do not rely on the Navy very often."

"No way we'll make it down there in six minutes," I murmured, returning my binoculars to the Ranger who'd lent them to me.

"Really, thank you for stating the obvious," the female Ranger grunted.

I didn't even really hear what the Pale Marksman was saying, because an idea was coming to me. A crazy, certifiably insane idea. I almost wanted to slap myself for even thinking of it, but… Well, I guess I just believed that my idea had a better chance of success than whatever the Rangers would attempt to do after the window of opportunity with the Navy closed. Because, by themselves, they had no chance of getting close enough to the tower in time…but I was able to do some things that the Prospitians could not.

"Where's the laser?" I asked next.

The radioman reached into his satchel and produced a small, black object that almost reminded me of a scope that you could attach to a rifle. He attached it to his energy rifle. "You just flip the switch on the bottom," the Ranger demonstrated activating the laser for me without actually doing it, "and aim at the target. As much of an inconvenience the thousand-yard limit is, at least the target designators are quite simple to operate-"

"Yeah, great, thanks; I'll take that…" Even as the Ranger was finishing his little demonstration, I stepped forward and snatched the energy rifle out of his hands. I then turned and sprinted over the edge of the cliff face, soaring up into the air. I could faintly hear the Pale Marksman screaming for me to get my ass back to cover, but that quickly faded away.

I had surprise as my main weapon. The Dersites in the camp below weren't expecting any kind of attack. The most they would expect to get slammed with was probably a strafing run from the Prospitian Royal Air Force; they definitely would never expect any kind of ground assault.

And while maybe they would subsequently have their attention on the sky… I wasn't exactly a fighter jet. Their radars, if they had any, would not detect me. And my golden Prospit pajamas were hidden under the camouflaged clothing the Pale Marksman had given to me, so I was even less visible to the naked eye than I would normally be.

I flew as fast as I could, hugging the energy rifle close. As I neared the giant camp, though, an alarm actually rang out, and Dersite commandoes started to come out of the woodwork. Some of them were shouting orders and pointing to the sky, in a general _towards me_ direction. It wasn't long before energy bolts started searing through the air around me.

_Not_ okay.

I raised my stolen energy rifle and pressed the switch on the bottom of the targeting laser. A bright line of green light snapped into existence, and I peered through the scope of the designator, taking aim at the jamming tower. I kept myself moving so that the commandos on the ground couldn't effectively draw a bead on me, but I did not move the targeting laser from the tower.

After I spent about thirty seconds hanging in midair, lazing this jamming tower, I eventually heard a faint noise that almost sounded like a massive bass drum being pounded halfway across the world. If I'd known what was coming next, I would've covered my ears…

The clouds parted for a moment and a blinding missile of light roared through, slamming down into the jamming tower. The explosion was deafening, and I could actually see the shockwave of the impact. The jamming tower was completely obliterated, along with a good portion of the center of the Dersite camp.

My job now done, I turned around and got the hell out of there. A couple minutes later, I was back on the Rangers' ridge. I landed on both feet and walked over to the radioman, giving him back his rifle, making sure I thanked him. I had to take a moment to breathe deeply. My heartrate was bursting through the ceiling, at this point.

The Pale Marksman planted herself right in front of me, fixing me with a withering glare. "You ever go outside my orders like that again, and I will personally break all of your limbs. That being said…well done," she added with a ghost of a grin.

"Sir!" The radioman gestured for the Marksman to come over to the radio. "Something is not right, here… I have the marshal of the Browncoats on the line, and he says our radar systems have just lit up across the board with hostile contacts-"

The Pale Marksman hurried over to the radio and quickly jumped into a rapid-fire conversation with whoever was on the other end…but I didn't need to listen in on them to figure out what was going on. I could hear another sound…a faint, almost high-pitched, noise…

Engines. I was hearing engines.

I stood with the Rangers and watched, almost in a daze, as a massive force of Dersite bombers emerged from the clouds. There were dozens of them…they were not as advanced as the Prospitian aircraft, obviously, but they definitely made up in numbers what they lacked in technology. Dozens, hundreds of bomber planes… They cast shadows across the ground as they flew straight over our heads.

They were making a run straight for the Airfield. The jamming tower had prevented the Prospitians from detecting their approach—sure, we'd destroyed the tower…but we'd been too late. There was nothing to be done, now. All that could be done was to warn the Browncoats and the other infantry divisions to get to cover, and hope they could make it through what was to come. As for the Airfield...

We all watched silently, in some collective sense of horror as the giant force of bombers passed us by. Before long, we could hear quiet explosions, muffled by all the hills separating us from the Airfield. And not long after that, we could see the first pillars of smoke rising up into the air.

We all made our way back through the hills almost in a trance, silently. No one spoke or made any other kind of noise. We got back to the Airfield within the hour.

There was nothing left.


	35. IV Chapter 35: Ethereal Canoeing

Chapter Thirty-Five: Ethereal Canoeing

I woke up in a cold sweat.

It was still the middle of the night. I'd gone to sleep sometime earlier in the afternoon, much earlier than I normally went to bed, which was why it was still night when I was waking up after having a normal-length dream on the Battlefield. I could've kept on sleeping, but then I'd seen one of the most traumatizing things in my life—even worse than when Anna had gotten half her head blown off right in front of me.

It was Theo…the armored unit he had been placed in command of had been completely obliterated in the Dersite airstrike that had destroyed the King's Airfield, and…he…his body, it…

Actually, no. Nope. Not gonna talk about this right now. I'm already getting nauseous.

I took a moment to get my bearings. The cold, hard stone ground was ultimately what reminded me of where we were. A cave in a cliff face, in the middle of the Bear's Thicket. I walked up to the cave entrance, peering down to glimpse the large swarm of underlings that had driven us into this cave, squinting slightly to see clearly in the pale, violet light of the rainclouds.

Yep, the underlings were still down there. They seemed to have given up trying to scale the cliff. Maybe they'd wised up and realized that they really didn't have to climb the cliff to kill us. Once our water ran out, we'd die of thirst. Sooner or later, we'd have to fight our way out of here…

Best I not worry about that shit until morning. Nothing I could really do in the dark, so I might as well relax. I turned back and looked down. The three consorts who were accompanying me were sound asleep. Scales and Aiyana were tightly coiled up next to where I had been, and I had to step over Inuyyak, who'd sprawled himself out between the cave entrance and the two others.

I wondered what cobras dreamed about.

Having nothing to do, and not wanting to wake my consorts, I decided to explore the cave a little. I conjured a fistful of flame over my palm. A small flame, but still a strong one. Bright enough to illuminate everything around me for a comfortable distance.

There weren't any stalactites or stalagmites, or anything stereotypically cave-like. Just an uneven ground and a ceiling that nearly brushed my hair at its lowest points. It really didn't go all that far back; I was just walking slowly because I had no idea what I was going to see next. When I reached what I thought was the back of the cave, it actually turned out that the cave simply curved off to the left…and opened up into a much larger cavern.

I walked straight down to where the cave broadened, but it was too big for my flame to light up. So I gave my fire more juice, doubling it in size. It illuminated much more of the cavern, but still not a whole lot of it. I could've sworn I'd heard a muffled, snuffling sound when I brightened the fire…but when I listened closely, I couldn't hear a thing.

I probably should've left it at that, but there was something really fascinating about this cavern. Like, an awesome natural hideaway, sequestered deep inside a random cliff face. And Jesus, it's not like I had a whole lot _else_ to do, with all those underlings waiting outside.

I took a deep breath and moved several steps into the cavern. I raised both hands and focused on my Aspect, feeling the tiny vibrations in the air above my hands, tapping into that energy, amplifying it. A good-sized ball of flame sprang suddenly into existence—I was glad I was holding it far away from my face, or else I'd have probably gotten first or second-degree burns from the heat. I could only wonder at how my hands never seemed to get burned…

That did the trick. The entire cavern was lighted…and holy goddamn motherfuck, I wish it wasn't. The far side of a cavern was littered with nearly a dozen giant, furry, slumbering creatures. Brown-haired, powerful legs, fierce faces and snouts…wickedly sharp teeth and claws… Most were quite large, but closer examination revealed a handful of the creatures that were tiny in size. Cubs. Oh, and one more detail; because of my little fireburst, there, they weren't slumbering anymore.

As I looked at the creatures, they all looked back at me and were on their feet within seconds. I was a stranger who had invaded and brought fire to their den, and these creatures had a very certain way of dealing with unwanted company.

I turned and ran my ass off, rounding the bend in the cave and sprinting like crazy towards the mouth. "Get up!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, rousing the three cobra-consorts sleeping near the entrance.

"What iss it?" Aiyana was the first to speak, but I cut her off. And I didn't even need to interrupt her—the angry growls coming from the back of the cave were more than enough to shut her up.

"Bears!" I exclaimed. "_Bears! Fucking bears!_"

And if my screams weren't enough to light a fire under their asses and get them moving, the pack of angry grizzly bears rounding the bend in the cave and bounding towards us more than did the job. Aiyana and Scales reached the cave mouth first, quickly scrambling along the cliff face, away from the cave. Inuyyak was next, making sure he was between the cave and the others.

As for me, I simply ran right over the edge of the cave mouth, catching myself in mid-air with my Aspect, holding myself aloft. It wasn't nearly as easy or effortless as my dream self's ability to fly, but it was getting less difficult with more practice. The bears, still hell-bent on ripping us to shreds, followed us right up to the cave entrance…and then one of the most amazing things happened.

The swarm of underlings below had been roused and agitated by all our screaming and antics involved with getting the fuck out of the cave, and they were now making noise and howling for our blood once again. Because of all the noise they were making, when the bears reached the cave entrance they ended up losing any interest in us and instead focused their attention on the underlings. Their cubs were in danger, and the threats had to be dealt with.

Roaring almost loud enough to shake the ground, the bears thundered down the cliff face and landed in the midst of all the underlings. The imps and ogres tried to attack the bears…and immediately regretted their mistake. The bears set upon the underlings. I winced as I watched the grizzlies tear the underlings apart. The imps stood no chance whatsoever. They were torn to ribbons by the bears' fury, and little remained of many of them besides bloodstains and random body parts.

The ogres did not fare much better. As I watched the bloodbath, I saw that two or three of the ogres were actually able to score a hit on the bears, but those unfortunate underlings were immediately set upon by several of the wounded bears' kin. One bear actually sank its teeth into an ogre's neck and was able to tear its head clean off. Another grizzly was able to pin an ogre to the ground, raking it across its abdomen with the claws of its free hand, eviscerating the hapless creature.

While the underlings were getting torn apart, the three consorts had actually started to climb the cliff face. I lifted myself up through the air, keeping pace with my consorts, ready to lend a helping hand if any of them slipped or fell. Luckily, none of them did. Scales, being a Treefolk and therefore used to climbing things as a part of his daily life, was the first one to reach the top.

Scales helped Aiyana up to the top of the cliff. I moved to help Inuyyak, but he gave a low growl and rebuffed me, hauling himself over the edge of the cliff all on his own. We didn't glance back at what remained of the ill-fated underlings. We'd been dealt an incredible stroke of luck, and we'd have to be pretty damn stupid to waste it.

Still, though…we were now traveling in the dark. There was still the soft violet glow of the rainclouds, but only a small fraction of it was able to penetrate the trees. The cobras fared much better than me, and I found myself relying more and more on Scales to keep me from accidentally walking over the edge of another gorge.

Several times we actually had to hide in the bushes to wait for a swarm of underlings to pass us by. The underlings were out in force during the nighttime hours, and we especially didn't want to attract another swarm like we did last time. If another group of underlings were to discover us, they'd probably bring hundreds of their friends down on our heads. Not that I can't handle underlings, but there comes a point where sheer numbers actually start to matter, and said numbers would never be in our favor.

And so, we played the stealth card, and we moved silently through the trees and hills. Well, the three cobra-consorts moved silently—they slithered like normal snakes did, head to the ground and everything, making very little noise as a result. As for me…well, I wasn't making a ruckus or anything, but I couldn't help but step on twigs or dead leaves every few paces. And we haven't run into any trouble yet, so I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that I'm being quiet enough.

We kept this up until morning, when the daylight returned. Nothing changed, really. We were just able to pick up the pace a little because the underlings weren't quite so numerous, and I was also able to…you know…see where I was going.

I know I have a penchant for filling empty silence with conversation…but what can I say? I'm usually a quiet person, but that's just because everyone else does most of the talking. When everyone else is silent…well, I just don't like it.

"So has anyone ever actually _seen_ Hyperion?" I asked, speaking to both Aiyana and Inuyyak, though I knew Aiyana was much more likely to answer than her violet-scaled friend. "I mean, everyone keeps saying I'm gonna have to face him eventually, but all anyone knows about him is that he arrived here six hundred years ago and fucked a lot of shit up. Does he never leave his palace?"

"No one sspeakss of the Denizen very often," Aiyana replied. "His name iss never invoked lightly. None who ssaw him during his conquesst are alive any longer. The only one to have confronted the Denizen and lived to tell about it wass the Old One."

That one made me frown. "Wait, wait, wait a hot sec." I held up a hand, halting the story. "How could the Old One have met Hyperion? The Old One lived over ten thousand years ago."

"You assk too many quesstions, little Knight," Inuyyak grunted.

Aiyana blinked once, giving the violet-scaled cobra a quick glare. Inuyyak gave another grunt and flared his neck hoods in a shrug, turning his attention forward once more. The brown-scaled female turned back to me. "Our mythology iss confusing, if nothing elsse. A conssequence, perhapss, of our lack of a written form of our language. I know only the sstoriess our elderss tell uss, not how they came to firsst be told."

"_Ogress!_" Inuyyak whisper-shouted from up ahead. By now, taking cover was instinctual. I didn't even have to look for the best place to hide—as if on autopilot, my body simply dove into a nearby thicket of shrubbery. I flattened myself to the earth.

As a pack of eight or nine ogres lumbered past us, the only thing I was really thinking about was how interesting it was that, despite the perpetual rain that gave my planet part of its name, the soil never seemed to turn into mud. Which was just as well—if the ground here behaved normally, there'd be nothing _but_ mud covering the whole planet. Then it'd be the Land of Mud and Rivers. Or the Land of Rain and Mud. Either way, it didn't really have as much of a ring.

After one or two minutes of silence, we broke cover and continued making our way through the woods. I wondered how large the Bear's Thicket was—while I was sure it wasn't anywhere near the size of the Knightswood or the Shadowed Forest, it certainly seemed to be pretty damn big. I could see how the Bear and his warriors had held out against Hyperion and his underlings for so long. There were many places to hide—I wouldn't have wanted to be on Hyperion's side during the campaign to flush the Bear out of these woods.

Of course, the Bear and all his warriors died, so I really wouldn't have wanted to be on _either_ side of that fight.

We paused only for a brief lunch—nuts, bread provisions, and water—before getting right back to it. It was late afternoon by the time we reached our next destination. No, not the High Council Fire; the river that would apparently take us to it.

A sky river descended from the violet rainclouds and came within forty feet of the top of a hill. That hill had actually come into view about an hour before we reached it—we had to cross a valley that was absolutely swarming with imps and ogres. Normally it would've taken us twenty minutes, or so, but we had to move extra slowly due to all the underlings.

For a while, I wondered how we'd travel down the sky river without a boat, but I decided not to ask. Aiyana would not be leading us here if there was no way to use the river. As it turns out, the Underground—the network of resistance cells that operated in the Northern Fires, led by the Faithful—had made sure to leave a canoe at this drop-off, concealed underground. All we had to do was uncover it.

This was a larger canoe than the one Scales and I had taken north from the desert—able to fit all four of us. We clambered into the small boat and lifted it into the air with our collective Vis. There was an alarming screech that rang out not too far away. An underling must have spotted us. Sure enough, within ten or fifteen seconds, the hilltop below was swarming with imps, with more ogres on the way.

It didn't matter. They were too late. Between the four of us, we were able to levitate ourselves up to the sky river within half a minute. We lowered the canoe back down onto the water, where it was snatched away by the current. Inuyyak picked up one of the paddles and settled down in the front of the boat, propelling us forward with long, powerful strokes. I took up a position in the back of the boat, like before, and kept us relatively straight, straining at first to keep up with Inuyyak's strokes.

After a bit of a bumpy first few minutes, we settled into a rhythm, and our trip grew much calmer.

"What was the name of this river?" I asked.

"Thiss wass once the Nanuk River," Aiyana replied. "In the olden dayss, we used thiss river to travel from the Golden Grasses to the Shadowed Forest in the West. Of course, the Cataclysm changed that."

I remember the consorts mentioning something about whatever the fuck this mysterious Cataclysm was supposed to be, and a connection with the sky rivers, but I couldn't remember what it was. I was feeling curious, so I decided to ask. "How so?"

Aiyana glanced back at me, blinking several times. "Our riverss flowed across the earth, during the time of the First Stories, until the Cataclysm ten thoussand yearss ago."

"The Long Night of Sorrows ravaged our world, and our riverss were ssundered into the sskiess," Scales finished for the brown-scaled female. "The elderss tell uss that our very sskiess glowed with the energy of the Vis, and the power already infused within the riverss had quite a reaction to it—the riverss were no longer bound to the ground; they were able to ssusstain themsselves in the air."

While this was all very fascinating and everything, by now I'd almost forgotten how we'd even gotten onto this topic of conversation. I'd just forgotten what the name of the river was; I hadn't meant for that to turn into a history lesson.

We didn't talk very much after that. There wasn't a lot to talk about, and we were all a bit tired from constantly being on the watch for attacks from the underlings. The Nanuk River flowed through and above the rain clouds for the majority of the time. We canoed through giant, majestic cloud banks that towered over us like some sort of heavenly mountain range. At times, we would find ourselves paddling alongside a flock of cardinals. The small red birds were actually quite numerous—they just tended to fly above the rain clouds, so we never saw them very often.

Sometimes the Nanuk River would dip below the clouds, and we would watch as we sped past hills, mountains, and wide valleys. Sometimes I could even spot a town or two—wood and stone buildings, surrounded by protective palisades. The larger towns always had a black and gray fort on a hilltop nearby—Dersite structures, I could only assume.

It occurred to me that none of my friends had ever mentioned having Dersites on their planets—they only had to deal with underlings. I wondered why the dark-shelled carapacians had come to _my_ planet. How was it that Hyperion had control of them, but none of my friends' denizens did? What was so special about him? He must have been working with the Black Queen, or something, to receive Dersite support.

I knew that after I got the Northerners onto the 'Fuck Hyperion's Shit' bandwagon, all of the consorts would march on Hyperion's Palace. And while I knew that I, personally, wouldn't be leading the assault or anything, it was me the consorts would be rallying around. Their precious Knight, as if I was supposed to make all the difference in the world… Any which way, though, I really wasn't looking forward to the battle. I've seen my consorts go up against Dersites in the past, and it wasn't pretty. Granted, those consorts had been prisoners, not warriors…but still. Going up against energy rifle-wielding Dersites would yield losses…and probably a lot of them.

I glanced over at Scales. The red-scaled consort was coiled up along with Aiyana in the middle of the canoe, both of them fast asleep. Would he be alive at the end of all this? How many of Clan Nathair would survive? Would his father?

_Agh!_ See, there I go again, letting my thoughts run wild. Gotta stop doing that…

_We all have to die sometime…_

What the fuck? Who the fuck whispered that?

Scales and Aiyana were sleeping, and Inuyyak had been silent since yesterday. Who had…? Oh no. No. No, no, _no._

I glanced over to the right—the Nanuk River was flowing through a storm cloud, at the moment, so it was hard to see anything. But for a brief, split-second of a moment, I was able to spot someone in the dark violet mist. A silhouette. A familiar voice…a familiar voice that I was never quite able to recognize.

The Phantom was back.

And just as I focused on the silhouette in the cloud, it vanished. The Nanuk River climbed upwards suddenly, taking us above the rain clouds and twisting through the night sky. I found myself gripping both sides of the canoe, my knuckles turning bone-white, my paddle lying on the floor of the boat.

Inuyyak must have felt the change in our movement with me no longer paddling, because he twisted around to look at me, his slate-gray eyes blinking several times in concern. "What iss wrong, little Knight?" the giant consort rumbled.

"Nothing…" I murmured, picking my paddle back up, plunging it back into the river. "I'm just being haunted. No biggie…"

I was grateful that Inuyyak decided not to question me any further. Instead, he flared his neck hoods in a shrug, returning with a low grunt to his paddling. It had been a while since the Phantom had paid me a visit. It used to give me nightmares when I was a kid, but I'd never told anyone about it—not even my Sis. Didn't want to deal with psychiatrists and shit, you know? It bothered me less frequently as I got older, and I hadn't encountered the Phantom even once in the past three or so weeks. Maybe it was because I was under a lot of stress, or whatever, but I really hadn't seen the Phantom very much lately.

I wondered why I was seeing it again, all of a sudden. Why was it bothering me now?

I didn't have time for this. I had to worry about recruiting the last tribe of my consorts so that we could all get together and take down my Denizen, who was apparently the strongest person with the Force Aspect on this planet. You can understand the stress? Do I really need some phantom spectre haunting me right now?

No, I don't.

Though I continued to paddle with Inuyyak, I grew lost in my own thoughts. By the time I was jerked back to reality, it was nearly morning. I was nudged by Aiyana's tail, almost causing me to jump. The daylight was just barely starting to return, and the Nanuk River had taken us below the clouds once again. Not too far ahead, I could see it dipping down within thirty feet of a ridge covered in giant trees.

That was obviously the place where we were going to disembark, but Aiyana was directing my attention to the tall mountain in the near distance. Though it was disappearing from view as we lost altitude, I could see part of a settlement on the far side of the mountain. It was surrounded by stone walls, and there was a giant fort built into the mountainside, watching over the town below.

"That iss the High Council Fire," Aiyana said to me. "We have arrived."


	36. IV Chapter 36: The Cloudy Mountains

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Cloudy Mountains

It smelled like ashes and smoke.

I was being carried; that much was obvious even before I opened my eyes. Sure enough, when I came to I found myself hugging the back of a particularly burly Prospitian soldier. He wore a brownish-tan trench coat, had twin belts of ammunition draped across his chest, and carried some sort of light machinegun that looked like something straight out of _Band of Brothers_. It even had a tripod and a perforated barrel jacket. Damn, this guy must be hella-strong, to be carrying me in _addition_ to all that crap. Or maybe I just weighed nothing.

I looked up, trying to get my bearings. I was in the middle of a column of Prospitian soldiers, and we were making our way through a somewhat wide valley, hemmed in on both sides by rock faces. Mountainsides, I realized, observing how the vegetation ceased to grow past a certain altitude. I tried to see the tops of the mountains, but they were obscured by the Skaian clouds.

The valley we were in was lush, full of pine trees and vegetation, with small critters skittering from bush to bush, from branch to branch. Ferns were abundant on the ground, and there were a few small creeks that trickled through the trees. The daylight was a bright afternoon amber—these guys must have been traveling all day long.

I then registered that all the soldiers were dressed in the same brownish overcoats as my bearer—they were the Browncoats. They were the soldiers who had organized the defense of the King's Airfield…which now no longer existed.

Oh, God… It all came rushing back. The Dersite bombing run, returning to the airfield with the Rangers, and Theo… Oh Jesus, Theo…

He had been placed in command of a tank unit before I departed with the Pale Marksman and her Rangers. When we returned to find the airfield nothing more than a smoldering crater, the first thing I'd done was to search for Theo's tank unit. I found it, too…and there was barely anything left of it. Blackened, charred wrecks, carbonized skeletons…nothing more.

Concerning god tier regeneration, it seemed that the length of time which it took for revival to occur depended on the severity of the wound. That's the only reason I could think of to explain why Theo took so long…

A bomb must have fallen directly on him, because I couldn't find any trace of him. I picked through all the husks of the tanks, searching frantically for my friend, in vain…and then the impossible happened. Millions and millions of ash particles started to glow with all the colors of the rainbow, along with scattered bits of bone fragments, scraps of skin, and…other things.

All of the glowing ash particles started to cascade towards a point that served as an epicenter of sorts. And when they started to build up in the center, the glowing ash particles bonded together to form leg bones, a pelvis…then a spine, with a ribcage sprouting into existence around it. And even as the ash was transmuting itself into a skull at the top of the spine, more of it began to flow up onto the leg bones, resolving itself into muscle tissue. I watched muscles regenerate, tendons suddenly connecting previously naked bones to the new muscles, ligaments now connecting bones to _other_ bones, cartilage…then the circulatory system—veins, arteries, lymph vessels and nodes…and in the center of all that, a mass of glowing ash coalesced to form a heart, which promptly started to beat.

Though I couldn't see through the ashen skull, I knew that when it began to shine twice as bright, the omni-colored ash was reforming into a brain. And from the brain, more ash wrapped itself around every possible facet of the horrifyingly incomplete body, resolving into nerves. At the same time, more ash flowed through the spaces between the bones. I saw a stomach form, lungs…liver, intestines, kidneys…before long, it was like I was looking at one of those skeletons that you usually find in your health ed. teacher's room, with all the internal organs and such…

I had to struggle, I mean _really_ struggle to keep myself from vomiting. It was almost like watching a scene from a movie where someone's body crumbles into dust…and then hitting _rewind_ and watching it happen in reverse. And while it sounds cool…actually _watching_ it? Seeing every gory detail of your best friend's vaporized corpse as it put itself back together? If you're able to watch that without feeling nauseated, then there's something really fuckin' wrong with you.

There wasn't very much of the glowing ash left, at this point. The remainder of it flowed onto the body, completely covering it in an opaque layer of light. Starting from the feet up, the rainbow light started to fade, revealing newly-regenerated dark brown flesh. I averted my eyes before I saw too much. But after giving it a few seconds, once the light completely went out, I looked back…and Theo was hovering in the air, fully clothed in his Thane's garb. Not a scratch on him.

I stared at him. He held up a hand and gave a weak wave. "_Hey,_" he said to me.

That did it. I fell to my knees and hurled everything that had been in my stomach out onto the ground.

Then I passed out.

And…well, the rest is history. Couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to be a raging dumb fuck and stroll dick-first into a fucking den of angry giant grizzly bears. Of course, it could be argued that my stupidity was the reason we were able to escape that cave in the first place. Bears make a great way to keep underlings occupied.

I must have made some small noise or movement, because the soldier carrying me gave a quiet grunt. "Hey, Three-Shot! Notify the Captain that the Knight is awake!"

"On it." A shorter Prospitian who wore a radio on his back quickly complied with the burly soldier's order.

It occurred to me that this was probably the first time I've ever heard a common Prospitian refer to another by name…and yet, they still used titles, or nicknames. I wondered if they had names at all.

The burly Prospitian held his machinegun in one hand. With his other, he reached back and gripped me by the collar of my golden-yellow Prospit pajamas, gently lowering me back to the ground. "Good to have you back," he rumbled, grabbing his weapon with both hands once more. "Though you'll probably wish you hadn't woken up."

"Yeah, I've been getting that vibe a lot, lately…" I massaged my shoulders, which were slightly sore from having been carried for who knew how long. I then gestured over to the radioman. "Why do you call him Three-Shot?"

The burly soldier gave a hearty chuckle. "During the Cloudy Mountains Campaign that happened in this very valley, and others like it, two centuries ago, Three-Shot once managed to kill three darkies with a single shot."

I looked at the radioman with a new respect. "What the hell's he doing with a radio, then, if he can shoot like that?"

That got another laugh. "If you've ever seen Three-Shot try to hit a moving target, you would understand how laughable the idea of him killing three Dersite commandos with one shot is. It happened by accident."

I figured, while I was already having a conversation with a normal Prospitian—which rarely ever happened—I might as well ask him the question that had just popped into my mind. "So, uh… Do you guys actually have names? I mean, I only hear you guys call each other titles or nicknames, and I was just curious."

The burly Prospitian fixed me with a glance, as if he were surprised I would take an interest in such a random subject. "We have no names. We are gestated and grown in laboratories. The closest thing I have to a birth name is V9C64001—my identification number." The Prospitian bared one of his forearms and showed it to me. Imprinted on his white carapace-like flesh was something resembling a barcode. "Some of us achieve fame in one way or another, and they receive a title. As for the rest of us…all we have left to be known by are our deeds."

"Like killing three enemies with a single shot," I murmured. I glanced back up at the burly Prospitian. "And what are you known for?"

A third laugh. "They call me Firehands," the burly soldier chuckled. His black eyes seemed to glint as he relived the memory of how he got that name. "Maybe if I see you again, I'll tell you that story."

Theo chose that moment to make his grand entrance, before I could pester Firehands any further. He swooped in from above, riding a gust of wind, setting himself down right in front of me. Before I could say anything, he simply grabbed me and yanked me into yet another one of his bone-crushing bear hugs.

"You're fuckin' one of a kind, man," Theo laughed as he released me. "Best friend miraculously comes back to life, and what do you do? You vomit all over the place and pass out like we're at one of Gino's old house parties!"

"Hey, you can shut the fuck up," I shot back. "You didn't have to watch your body get reassembled piece by fucking piece. I did. It'll probably give me nightmares. Thanks."

Theo gave a shrug. "You can't have nightmares, bro! You go to sleep, you wake up as your dream self. No nightmares here!"

"Dunno, a lot of nightmarish things have happened while I dream; it could be argued that being my dream self is a nightmare," I pointed out.

That earned a frown from Theo. "You're saying getting blazed with Cruz and floating around Prospit like Mary Poppins and company over the rooftops of London was a nightmare?"

"Well, I didn't say the _whole_ thing was a nightmare."

Theo stared at me for five solid seconds without saying a word. He then lightly slapped me up the left side of my head. "Well, I'm still alive and kicking regardless. Stop bein' a downer! C'mon, let's get up to the front of the column. The Rangers will be reporting back soon. Thanks, Firehands." My friend nodded to the burly Prospitian.

And with that, we were flying through the air, soaring above the marching Prospitian soldiers towards the head of the column.

"Okay, seriously, why is his name Firehands?" I asked Theo.

"That, I'm afraid, is something he'll have to tell you himself. Maybe when we set up camp tonight." And that was all Theo had to say on the matter.

I was expecting to find the marshal of the Browncoats at the head of the column, or some other high-ranking officer, but there was no one there who fit that description. Just a grizzled, one-armed Prospitian and a familiar female soldier dressed entirely in black. The Pale Marksman was back in business.

"I have been waiting for two minutes." The Pale Marksman sounded none too pleased.

"Calm your tits, I had to go get my friend," Theo shot back.

That was when the Pale Marksman decided to acknowledge my presence. She nodded to me. "Good to see you again, Knight."

I returned the nod. "Yeah, you too."

Theo gave me a brief glance, but he quickly regained his composure and turned back to the Pale Marksman. "Have your Rangers reported back yet?"

The Pale Marksman nodded again. "They have. There is a Dersite outpost on the mountainside about two miles ahead. We have escaped detection thus far, but if that outpost spots us… They will radio in our position, and the Dersite Air Force will blow us all away."

"Need to take those darkies out, then, and sharpish," the one-armed Prospitian interjected. He looked over to the Marksman. "Unless it is already done?"

The Pale Marksman shook her head. "My men are in position, but we are unable to engage the outpost without the Dersites alerting their superiors."

"I thought Rangers specialized in stealth," the one-armed Prospitian quipped.

That earned a withering glare from the Marksman. "If I had three hours, we could slit every Dersite throat in that outpost without alerting a fly, Sergeant Major. But, as Skaia would have it, we do _not_ have three hours. We have perhaps thirty, forty minutes before the column reaches that outpost. We are on a bit of a timetable, here."

"What do you need?" Theo got right to the point.

"A Hero," the Pale Marksman replied. "I have a plan. It is quite crude and simple…but it should be no less effective for it. And it needs a Hero."

"Lead the way." Theo started to walk to the Marksman before I could even make a move, to my disappointment. The female Ranger was about as badass as they came, and I kind of wanted to be the one to join her. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.

Maybe the Powers that Be heard my thoughts just then, for the Sergeant Major stepped forward and grasped Theo by the arm. "You aren't going anywhere, Thane," he grunted. "You have assumed responsibility for the survivors of this division. You need to remain with the column."

Seeing the opportunity presented to me, I quickly seized it. "I'll go," I spoke up, stepping forward.

"Just as well, I'd rather have the Knight," the Pale Marksman agreed. "He has worked under me already."

Theo muttered something under his breath, but he gave no argument. "Fine, I'll stay…" When he looked at me, though, there wasn't a trace of envy in his eyes. That's Theo for you, suffering from a chronic case of being a better person than me—I've said it before, and I'll say it again. He held out a fist. "Give 'em hell, bro."

I pounded his fist. "I'll be back in a minute."

The Pale Marksman and I set off at a sprint ahead of the advancing Prospitian column. I did not fly while I was running alongside the Marksman—one, because she could not fly, and secondly because I had to follow her to find the other Rangers. They were quite elusive, and I'd never find them on my own.

"How many survived the Airfield?" I asked the Marksman as we made our way across a creek, splashing through the shallow water, hopping from stone to stone.

The female Ranger grimaced. "Most of the Air Force was wiped out before the evacuation could commence. All of the wounded…most of our supplies, our artillery and anti-aircraft equipment… The Browncoats were barely able to disengage without getting shredded. The other two divisions were almost completely wiped out—the Browncoats absorbed the survivors. I'd estimate we number roughly five thousand."

"So where does that leave us?"

"We are retreating through the Cloudy Mountains," the Marksman replied. "The Dersites are hemming us in, and without the Air Force to keep their behemoths at bay…"

"I get it," I interrupted. "Doesn't pay to think too far ahead, right now. That's the White King's job, not yours."

"I suppose…" The Pale Marksman took in a deep breath, holding it for a second before exhaling. "It's times like these when I sometimes find myself missing my old job in the postal service."

I wondered if the female Ranger had just said something she really hadn't meant to. Or maybe she had no problem with speaking to me because she knew that most of her brethren would never talk to a Hero, let alone ask them about her inner thoughts. And, to be perfectly honest, I would never tell anyone, either. The female Ranger would probably pull me inside out if I ever did.

We never actually rendezvoused with the other Rangers, like I was expecting. As we ran towards our destination, we eventually reached a meadow of tall grass. The point was that there weren't many trees in the meadow, so I was able to see the mountainside up ahead. Above the treeline, the mountainside grew very steep, almost sheer. But at one point, there was a ledge not far over the treeline, and rising from that ledge was a medium-sized gray tower, connected to a smaller building.

As we started to hike up the bottom of the mountainside, approaching the Dersite outpost, the Pale Marksman handed me her rifle so I could use the scope, and she directed my view to the top of the Dersite tower. I could see some sort of tall metallic rod extending up into the air.

"That is the auxiliary communications system," the Marksman explained. "It runs on its own power, separate from the main communications system. Cutting power to the outpost would only result in the auxiliary communications system automatically signaling the nearest Dersite fort. The Dersites in that outpost could still report what is happening to their superiors, and even if they _aren't_ able to… The enemy would still connect the dots, and we would soon find ourselves at the mercy of the Dersite Air Force with no way to shoot back. So we have to take the two communication systems out at the same time."

"You want me to fly you up there?" It was the only logical conclusion I could come to. It was a job Theo could have easily done as well, but it made sense for the Pale Marksman to want me for the job. After all, she'd already seen me fly when I lazed that Dersite radar jamming station. And dream flight, I suppose, was much stealthier than riding in on gale force winds.

The Pale Marksman nodded in the affirmative, taking back her rifle and slinging it across her back.

"Question," I held up a finger as we continued to trek upward. "How have you guys managed to deal with situations like these when Heroes weren't around?"

"Easily." The Pale Marksman met my gaze, daring me to argue. "As I said to the Sergeant Major; with three hours, we could have that outpost neutralized. The other option would be waiting until nightfall, but we cannot afford to stop the column for that long—too much distance would be lost. But now we have you."

We made our way up the bottom of the mountainside as far as we could, until it started getting really steep. We could have gone much further, but we were a bit cramped for time. After another few minutes, the Pale Marksman held up a fist—I was never in the military, but I've seen my fair share of war movies to recognize it as the signal to _stop_.

She took out her small handheld radio device and held it up to her mouth, speaking softly into it. I couldn't hear exactly what she was saying, but it was obvious that she was asking her Rangers if they were in position. A second ticked by, and the person at the other end of the channel gave an equally hushed reply.

Satisfied, the Pale Marksman pocketed her radio and gave me a nod. "Okay, Knight, time for you to play your part. Are you ready?"

Well, I knew that was a one-answer question. Not being ready wasn't an option. "Yep, hop on."

I had the Pale Marksman climb onto my back piggyback-style. Then I launched ourselves into the air. I flew as fast as I could, quickly leaving the trees far below us, ascending the mountainside. The trees zipped past, and within a couple seconds the blanket of green fell away to bare rock. I hugged the cliff face, sending us up past the Dersite outpost, up and over. Then down onto the top of the tower.

There was a strong wind up here, but not unreasonably so. Fortunately, there weren't any Dersites outside—I'd have had to alter my flight if there had been any sentries. They must all have been either manning the control room, or sleeping. That made life easier.

The roof of the tower was bare, save for the communication rod and a sealed hatch. That certainly cut down on distractions.

The Pale Marksman removed a medium-sized ball of what looked like Play-Doh. She rolled it around in her palms and crouched down, laying it in front of the auxiliary communication rod. She then stretched it out and molded it around the base of the rod. When she was finished with that, she removed a tiny metal device and pressed a small button on the bottom of it. A red light winked on.

When she pressed it a second time, the red light turned green. The Pale Marksman pushed the metal device into the Play-Doh material. She then backed up to a safe distance, gesturing for me to do the same, producing another small metallic device from her belt—this one was cylindrical, with a black button on top.

The Marksman raised her radio to her lips once more. "Auxiliary communication system is rigged to blow. Move in on my mark." The female Ranger took another deep breath and silently counted to five. After that, she said, "_Mark,_" into the radio and pressed the black button. Immediately, the explosive material laid around the base of the communication rod fulfilled its purpose in life and ignited, blowing a sizable hole in the ceiling of the tower and disintegrating the bottom of the rod, sending the rest of it crashing down.

At the same time, I heard another explosion down on the ground, followed by shouting and heavy footfalls. When I looked down, I saw Rangers climbing up and over the lip of the ledge, joining the single Ranger who had just blown open the front doors to the outpost. They entered through that newly-opened door and proceeded to storm the living quarters.

The Pale Marksman didn't waste any time lollygagging. She drew her pistol—a smaller weapon with a barrel extension that functioned as a silencer—and sprinted forward, jumping straight down through the hole in the ceiling, dropping down to the floor below. I followed her, just in time to watch her shoot a Dersite soldier attempting to climb the roof-access ladder.

The top level was most empty, save for a few dusty old crates of ration supplies. The middle level, however, contained several tables full of monitoring equipment, as well as about a dozen personnel. The equipment was dark and unresponsive, however—the Rangers must have been able to cut the power. The Dersites were banging the equipment, trying to get it to work again, when we made our entrance.

"Stay behind me," the Pale Marksman ordered me. "No fire. I know you have trouble controlling it, and I won't have you accidentally burning half my men alive."

I opened my mouth to argue, but promptly closed it. She was right, after all. I'd gotten much better at controlling fire, but my dream self on the other hand… When I was my dream self, fire came almost as naturally to me as breathing, and it was too easy for me to lose control and end up burning down a building. That worked out for me before when I was surrounded by Dersite commandos, but here…in an enclosed room with enemies _and_ friends… Fire is _no bueno_.

And besides, I've never actually seen the Pale Marksman in action. I was curious.

The Marksman made her way down the stairs, me hot on her heels. One of the nearest Dersites noticed her coming and reached for the weapon hanging from his hip, but the Marksman swiveled her aim and fired once. Her pistol coughed quietly, and a bolt of subdued white energy tore a hole through the enemy carapacian's forehead, spattering the monitor behind him with bright red blood.

The Marksman adjusted her aim and fired twice more, taking down the nearest Dersite, as well as the next one to go for his weapon. She did all this while moving down the stairs. By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs, the rest of the Dersites—ten strong—recovered from their surprise and started opening fire, peppering our side of the tower with energyfire.

I slid into cover behind one of the ops tables along with the Marksman, fighting the urge to set this entire tower on fire. If I'd been alone, I could've done it. The Marksman reached into her belt and pulled out a small, circular mirror mounted on a short metal rod—it was like one of those mirrors soldiers would use to spot snipers without actually sticking their heads out. I couldn't see what the female Ranger was looking at, but that really didn't matter.

The Marksman withdrew the mirror, and held her breath, counting to some unknown number. She then broke cover for a brief instant, squeezing off three quick, deliberate shots before ducking once again. A hail of gunfire answered her little counterattack…but I noticed that it was much weaker than before. The Marksman had probably gotten a Dersite with each individual shot.

Fortunately, before the Dersites could rush us, there was another explosion on the other side of the room. I looked up over the table in time to see the doors that presumably led to the lower stairwell fly open. Shadowy figures dressed in black and gray poured in, storming the ops room. Rifles opened fire, firing in quick, controlled bursts. Within two or three seconds, the room fell silent once more. Thirteen Dersite personnel lay dead on the floor, and I hadn't done a thing.

"Room clear!" one of the Rangers called out.

"Outpost is clear," the Marksman confirmed, holstering her pistol. "Nice work, gentlemen."

We were back with the column within half an hour. We didn't blow the outpost up or anything—that would have resulted in a pillar of smoke rising into the air like a fucking signal fire saying '_Here we are! Come bomb us!_' So when the column reached the place where the outpost had been, all that was visible was a slightly damaged tower that looked as if it had been abandoned for the past decade. I reunited with Theo and we spent most of the time trading stories.

It was not until some time after the daylight faded that the Browncoats decided to stop in a thick section of woods to make camp. Fires could be made at certain points where the tree cover was sufficient, and those soldiers who did not immediately go to sleep congregated at those fires. I was getting a bit tired myself, but Theo insisted I join him at one of the fires before I returned to my waking self.

"Brought a little somethin' somethin'," Theo retrieved his wallet sylladex and pulled out another captchalogue card. He released the item stored on the card…allowing a giant bag of jumbo marshmallows to thud down to the ground at his feet. He picked them up, jiggling the bag enticingly. "When's the last time you had a nice marshmallow roast?"

"Forever ago!"

We made our way over to the nearest campfire. I recognized Three-Shot and Firehands from earlier, but that was everyone I knew. Theo and I didn't really speak to anyone when we got to the fire—the Prospitians just made room for us and eyed us tentatively. Their curiosity was piqued, however, when we used sticks to spear our marshmallows and held them over the fire.

"What exactly is it that you are doing?" Firehands was the one to break the silence. The other soldiers leaned in to listen eagerly, as if our marshmallows were the most fascinating thing they've seen all year.

"We're roasting marshmallows, dude," Theo replied. He turned his marshmallow over, exposing a perfectly golden-brown side, getting to work on the rest of it.

"What is a…a _marshmallow?_" Firehands seemed to struggle with the new word.

"It's a…a…" Theo frowned as he tried to find the words, making weird shapes with his hands, trying to accurately convey what a marshmallow was. Trying and failing. Finally, Theo gave up and handed his stick over to Firehands. "Here, just eat it. Trust me."

Firehands promptly plucked the roasted marshmallow from the stick and plopped it into his mouth, chewing for a few seconds before gulping it down. If we hadn't been sitting next to a fire, we probably could have seen his eyes light up like hundred-watt light bulbs. He, too, found that he was unable to describe what roasted marshmallows were like, so he instead told the rest of the gathered soldiers to find sticks and roast their own.

Within two minutes, the bag of marshmallows was empty, and all the Prospitian soldiers at the campfire were pulling their marshmallows out of the flames. One of them accidentally burned his, but found that it tasted ten times better. The soldiers who hadn't already eaten theirs went ahead and incinerated their marshmallows…and they all agreed.

It would have been one of the most awesome things I've seen in this game session so far—a bunch of carapacians enjoying roasted marshmallows—if they hadn't preferred them to be burned. No self-respecting person should prefer their roasted marshmallows to be burned. It's all good, though, we can't all be perfect, and the carapacians are obviously no exception!

The soldiers stayed up for a little while, trading stories with each other, complaining about the lack of adequate food rations, ripping on superior officers… It all seemed a little forced, if you asked me. They just survived the destruction of the King's Airfield. With the Air Force nothing more than a memory, the Dersites had the advantage on the battlefield, now…and they all knew that. I guess it's just something they really didn't want to think about, right now. Take it one day at a time.

I could definitely relate to that.

But gradually, one by one or two by two, the soldiers rose from the fire and went their separate ways, turning in for the night. After all, they had more marching tomorrow, and they would need the rest. Before long, I was alone at the campfire with Theo—though the fire was more embers at this point than actual flames.

I noticed how he didn't seem even the least bit tired, despite all the walking he'd been doing today. "How the hell are you not dead on your feet, bro?" I asked him. I know _I'd_ probably be dead on my feet after a day like today, had I not spent most of it asleep on Firehands's back.

"I don't need to sleep, anymore." Theo shrugged. When he saw the look I gave him, he went on. "No, I'm serious. Like, I don't physically need to sleep anymore. I don't get hungry or thirsty, either. It's like my body just lives off nothing but air."

"Part of being a Thane of Breath, I guess?" I ventured a guess. "Have you really been eating, lately?" When Theo shook his head, another thought occurred to me. "Maybe that's why you've gotten so jacked. Breath is what nourishes your body, and coupled with all the exercise you mentioned doing to keep up with your consorts…"

"If only I could just turn _into_ air," Theo chuckled. "Now _that_ would be quite a party trick."

We settled into another silence, neither one of us really sure what we should be talking about. I was content to watch the flames die down and join the rest of the embers. Sure, sometimes I can get a little long-winded, but I'm generally a person of few words. Theo, on the other hand…not so much. So I wasn't surprised when he was the one to break the silence, five or six minutes later.

"I've forgotten most of them, you know."

I looked up from the embers. "Who?"

"Everyone else." Theo's expression didn't change. He was just staring into the embers. It kind of unnerved me a bit—he was usually always so energized and upbeat…seeing him grow somber felt wrong on so many levels. "I used to know the names of everyone in our grade. Didn't know 'em all personally, obviously, but… I knew who they were. Now, everything that's happened… I only remember a bare handful. I can't even remember who my neighbors were. How much will I have forgotten in another month? In a year?" He looked up at me. "What about you? Have you forgotten a lot?"

I took a few moments to think, looking back into the embers. "I remember my neighbors. Lou and Donna… Lou had a license to use fireworks, and he'd always set them off on the Fourth of July, and sometimes Veteran's Day…and also that one time back in '06 when Italy won the World Cup—he set off fireworks, then jogged all over the surrounding area waving this giant Italian flag…" I swallowed a laugh and shrugged, not really knowing where I was going with this anecdote. Maybe I just wanted to demonstrate that there were some things I hadn't forgotten yet. "You're not a robot, Theo. Why would you still remember the names of all those people we never really knew when you've been up to your ass in Dersites and underlings for the past month?"

That earned a low grunt from Theo. "Yeah, yeah… Dersites and underlings, yeah… You want to know what I think?"

To be honest, I really didn't. I knew it was something that was gonna make me slightly depressed…but Theo wasn't going to be stopped, now. "What?" I asked.

"We end up in this whacked-out place, this incipisphere. We don't really have time to question it because it throws us headfirst into all the action. So we make some crazy-ass weapons, we have fun kickin' some underling ass, we do weird shit with talking consort animals and unlock superpowers we never knew we had, we fight in a war between two different races of people that look like living chess pieces… We play this bullshit game with every ounce of soul and devotion we can muster because, in the end, we're an extinct fucking race and no one wants to think about that. Not me, not you, not the others. So we distract ourselves with all…" Theo gestured all around us, "all _this._ What the hell are we doing here?"

Well, I guess he nailed it pretty well on the head, there. Still…those were the exact kinds of thoughts that I didn't want to be thinking right now. Save that for when after everything has settled down, not when we need to be focusing… I decided to try and change tack.

"Yeah, I hear you dude." I nodded slowly in agreement. "But there's no point in thinking about that until we can find some answers. We should talk to Gwen, sometime… Look, is something wrong? This isn't like you."

Theo was silent for a minute or so, but then he released his breath and told me what was on his mind. "Gino's disappeared."

Gino. I hadn't seen or heard from him since that one night when he'd mind-jacked my dream self, steered me out into space, and forced me to generate an ion cloud over Theo's planet. He'd told me I'd helped save Theo's life. And that was the last time I'd spoken to him.

"What do you mean he's disappeared?" I frowned.

"I mean he _disappeared,_" Theo repeated himself. "Gone. Vanished. He was leading the rebellion on Derse. Now one of my friends from there tells me that his latest attack was botched, something happened to Gwen, and now Gino is freakin' MIA. Sorry for being Johnny Raincloud, there, but… I'm just worried."

"What, that he's dead?"

"Or worse," my best friend murmured. "He was starting to act kinda weird before I ended up on the Battlefield. Erratic, bad-tempered…"

"Gino Caiazzo being a dick? Surely you jest!" I didn't really try to hide the sarcasm.

"Forget it… You don't care, you already hate the guy…"

"I don't _hate_ him," I protested, albeit somewhat halfheartedly. I stifled a yawn. "Just…strongly dislike. But if there's any one of us who can take care of themselves, it's Gino. He's fine. He'll turn up."

Theo didn't look convinced. "You didn't see him on Derse. I did. I'm telling you, there's something weird with him."

We didn't stay up very much longer after that. About ten minutes later, the embers started to fade. When I found I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, I rose to my feet and trudged over to a nearby tree. Theo stamped out the embers with his boots and wished me goodnight before stalking off into the woods.

I wish our conversation hadn't ended on that note…but what can you do? It actually did kind of bother me what Theo was saying about Gino. But what could I really do about it? I'm a Prospit dreamer. I have no idea what's been happening on Derse, lately. And I had my own shit to deal with…

As I drifted off into sleep, my thoughts turned towards the Northern Fires.

Two tribes down, one to go…


	37. IV Chapter 37: Casting the Die

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Casting the Die

The smell of rain was the first thing I really noticed when I woke up. Apt, I would think, for waking up on a planet where it constantly rained. It wasn't called the Land of Rain and Rivers for nothing. And I actually preferred it this way—waking up to gentle rainfall is infinitely preferable to blaring sunlight, no matter how drunk or sober you are.

When we got off the Nanuk River, it was early morning, before Skaiarise—I call it Skaiarise for obvious reasons, Skaia being the light source in this 'solar system' of planets, and not a conventional sun. The daylight was still in the process of overcoming the pre-dawn shadows, with the eastern horizon steadily brightening, heralding Skaia's arrival. The rainfall was gentle, and millions of crystal globes of dew scattered atop the grass started to catch the light.

The High Council Fire was a three-hour walk from the Nanuk River's drop-off—a three-hour walk across lightly wooded hills, heading towards the mountain next to which the Northern 'city' was built. As we trekked through the hills, winding our way towards our destination, we never lost sight of the mountain. It was a natural beacon, drawing everything towards it from the surrounding hills. I could see why the central settlement of the Northern Fires would be located here.

The High Council Fire was protected by stone walls, accessible through a gate which was guarded by Dersite sentries. Yeah, between the three of us, we could have blasted in, but that would give away our presence here. The revolution in the North would be ended before it could even begin. For now, we had to play the stealth card.

And that meant we'd have to wait until dark. We made it to a ridge less than half a mile distant from the High Council Fire by midmorning. It was not the proximity of this ridge to the city that mattered—it was the fact that it was covered in thick woods, especially at the very edge. We could sleep here with relatively no threat of discovery, unless one of the Dersite guards wanted to go on a sudden nature walk…which I highly doubted any of them would ever do.

And so, we slept until dusk. I had a bit of an adventure on the Battlefield with a division of Prospitian soldiers as my dream self—I worked with one of their special forces units to take down an enemy outpost. I really hadn't done all that much; most of the dirty work was taken care of by some uber-badass Prospitians.

Then we all made camp and sat around a fire, toasted marshmallows, and sang fucking Kumbaya. Well, minus the Kumbaya. Then it was back to reality.

I really wished I could remember my dream self's exploits more clearly—everything is so much more vibrant and clear when I am my dream self, then I wake up as my waking self…and things get a bit fuzzier. Almost like my waking life was the dream.

Unlike many of the other times I've woken up in the wilderness of the Land of Rain and Rivers, the daylight was fading, not growing. As I said, it was dusk, and we could gain entrance to the High Council Fire much more easily under cover of night. Glimmering Scales was coiled up at the edge of the ridge, gazing out at the High Council Fire alongside Aiyana. Inuyyak—the jolly violet-scaled giant—rested behind them, not bothering to look. He knew it would be the best time to go whenever Aiyana said so, such was his faith in the brown-scaled female cobra. I rubbed the remaining vestiges of sleep out of my eyes and trudged over to join them.

"What do the walls look like?" I asked the consorts, who possessed much better eyesight than me. Like Inuyyak, I personally didn't bother trying to scout out what lay ahead.

"Ssentriess, possted at regular intervalss," Aiyana replied. "Not sstationary, either. They are consstantly moving."

"We will have to kill at leasst one of them to get by," Scales murmured. "Do it quietly, while it iss sstill dark…hide the body ssomeplace out of the way."

"Little Treefolk'ss right. Better to have a vanished guard than a corpsse on the wallss," Inuyyak rumbled in agreement. "If the Dark Oness disscover the body, there would be reprissalss."

"So if we just make him disappear, then that'll buy us some time before the Dersites realize their man is dead," I finished for the violet-scaled consort. "By then, they'll have a fuckin' revolution on their hands, so who gives a shit about a dead guard?"

"Well, we will not accomplish much if we sspend anymore time _talking_ about it," Aiyana hissed with some measure of impatience, turning away from the edge of the ridge. "Dussk iss upon uss. We should move, make contact with the Underground well before dawn. We could complete our tassk before the Great Sky Flame returnss tomorrow, if we move fasst enough."

And that was that. We erased all evidence of our having camped here—leave no trace, and all that shit. Then we got a move on, backtracking a little bit so that we could get down from the ridge, then resuming our eastward path towards the mountain.

"Does the mountain have a name?" I asked as we left the ridge behind us, unsure of why the sudden curiosity chose now to make its appearance. Maybe it was because I really wanted to start calling it the _Lonely Mountain, _but I wasn't gonna stoop so low as to rip off Tolkien, so…

"Yess, we call it _Inuilangoyok,_" Aiyana replied. "This means _lonesome_ in the old northern tongue."

The lonesome mountain. You gotta be kidding me.

I guess I'd made a face, or something, because Aiyana blinked at me several times, and asked, "Doess thiss bother you for ssome reason?"

"No." I shook my head. "No, it's actually perfect." The consorts, who've never read a word of J.R.R. Tolkien in their lives, didn't understand, poor things.

When we started drawing near to Mount Lonesome, whose proper name I won't even attempt to pronounce, we stopped speaking. We really hadn't been talking all that much before, but now we completely stopped altogether. The only noise, apart from the gentle pattering of rainfall, was the chirruping of small insects who remained awake even after Skaiaset. Once or twice I stepped on a fallen twig, producing a quiet _snap_ that sounded about a hundred times louder to us than it actually was. But the trees were sparse in the hills surrounding Mount Lonesome, so incidents like those were few and far between.

The glow of Skaiaset in the western horizon had fully faded by the time we reached Mount Lonesome. The onset of darkness had been gradual, so my night vision was in good shape. Unlike our escapades in the Bear's Thicket, however, we would soon have the lights of the High Council Fire to guide our way when we reached our destination, so I wasn't totally dependent on my consorts for guidance.

We scaled hill after hill until I stopped keeping count. When we reached Mount Lonesome, the trees thickened a little bit—there were some moderately dense woods covering the lower slopes of the mountain, but we were simply traveling along the eaves, not venturing too far in. It took us a total of two hours to get to the High Council Fire. We could've made the journey in less than one under normal circumstances, but we didn't want to be seen, so it took us a while longer.

It wasn't dramatic, or anything, like cresting a hill and being suddenly subjected to a breathtaking view of a magnificent city of light. Nothing like that. Rather, we simply hiked around Mount Lonesome's western shoulder, and the thousands of tiny flickering motes of light that could only be the myriad torches and lamps of the High Council Fire came into view, shining dimly through the veil of trees that still lay between us and them.

It was much more like returning to a waiting hearth than a city of light. Considering what we've gone through in the Bear's Thicket to reach the Nanuk River, I could very well appreciate the whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' feeling that seeing the quasi-capital of the North brought.

We stuck to the trees as far as we could, but ultimately had to put a little distance between us and the mountain. I was about to ask why—the trees would provide much better cover for us, never mind the fact that it was dark. But then I remembered that the High Council Fire was overlooked by a sizable Dersite fort, which was built into the mountainside. If we continued traveling through the woods on the slopes of Mount Lonesome, we would eventually encounter that fort, and…well, the Dersites probably wouldn't have spotted us in the dark, but why chance it?

Approaching the walls of the High Council Fire was enough risk in of itself. Earlier, I'd asked why the Underground didn't have any secret tunnels or passages into the city. Aiyana had told me that there had been, but every time a new one was made, it would be discovered within months—such was the competence of Dersite security. Eventually, efforts to create secret entrances and exits into the city ceased.

Veteran members of the Northern Underground, however, were easily able to traverse the walls without being detected. They usually worked alone, though, or in pairs. We were a group of four, which was harder to hide. And Inuyyak, who seemed to have made this trip several times in the past, commented on how the number of guards manning the wall had definitely increased.

I guess when word traveled round of the Knight arriving in the Western Fires, the Dersites in the North started ramping up security. Yeah, they probably knew that I'd be able to rally the Western and Desert Fires. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but I'd still be able to do it. But the Northern Fires was by far the largest tribe—perhaps as populous as the other two tribes combined, maybe even more so. If I was unable to get the Northerners onboard with the inevitable attack on Hyperion and company, failure was certain.

It was a good thing the Sand Dwellers had been helping the Northerners prepare for this for a long time. A tribe as large as the North would have taken ages to spark off a fully-fledged rebellion.

The sentries on the walls were constantly moving along the ramparts, keeping watch over the city on the inside just as much as the darkness on the outside. Darkness would not be too much of an obstacle to them. They were Dersites—they lived in the silence and darkness that existed beyond the Veil, at the very edge of the incipisphere.

And so, we were quiet as spirits as we crept closer and closer to the walls, not even daring to breathe too loudly lest we alert the vigilant carapacians. It was almost uneventful, when we finally reached the wall. Everything was going smoothly—no one was making too much noise, none of the sentries had noticed us… We were in the green.

I levitated myself with the Force Aspect while the cobras scaled the walls. I had gotten much better with it lately—I was no longer wobbling and flailing all over the place like I used to. It's pretty damn hard to levitate yourself; it's very much a matter of balance. Get too distracted, and you might end up veering off to the left all of a sudden. You had to practice and practice until it just became second nature.

Well, I wasn't quite there, yet, but I was making progress. I was at the point where I could start discovering on my own new ways to effectively utilize my Aspect, without Scales's help. But Scales was still able to best me most of the time when we sparred, so don't think I'm saying that he's become obsolete as a trainer, or anything. I still needed him.

There were many crevices, cracks, and other similar spaces on the wall which the cobras could use their Vis to help them climb. I think the Dersites believed that the consorts' Vis was used exclusively as a weapon, or a means of holding objects. They really didn't have any idea of the vast array of different ways in which the Force Aspect could truly be used.

And the consorts obviously had never educated them. Why share your secrets to your oppressors when they do not even know that they exist?

When we made it up to the ramparts, we waited silently just below the edge, waiting for a sentry to walk past. I offered to warn the others when the next sentry would pass us by, but I was rebuffed. Inuyyak would handle it.

Within fifteen seconds, we could all hear the light footfalls of an approaching sentry. I fought the urge to glance around the parapet to see when the sentry would be overhead, forcing myself to remain calm and trust in my consorts' instincts.

Inuyyak remained coiled under the parapet, still as the rock on which he clung to. Then, at some critical moment that would have passed me by had I been the one waiting for it, the burly violet-scaled cobra struck, rearing back his head, baring his fangs. His head snapped forward out of view, and I could hear a sickening _crunch_…but that was all. The cobra then slithered the rest of the way up the wall, vanishing from view.

Taking their oversized companion's cue, Scales and Aiyana both started to climb over the edge of the parapet and onto the battlements. I raised myself up onto the battlements as well. The unfortunate Dersite sentry was lying limp on the ground, her neck bent at an impossible angle between Inuyyak's jaws.

I didn't even bother set myself down on the wall—I just drifted up and over the battlements, lowering myself down to the ground on the other side. The consorts were hot on my heels, Inuyyak carrying the sentry's corpse on his back. There was an empty band of space separating the walls from the city within. Within this space were a few Dersite camps for the sentries, but we merely snuck in between two such camps, vanishing into the conglomeration of stone and wooden buildings that formed this village-like city.

The High Council Fire…well, it was a very strange-looking place. Almost like an oversized Native American village that tried to convert itself into a European town, but kind of ended up somewhere halfway in between. There were no streets, or any kind of stone on the ground, or anything—the few paths that existed were all dirt. And unlike Aztlán, where all of the homes and structures were made of stone, these dwellings were a mixture of stone and wood, more closely resembling the wigwams of the Northeastern Native Americans in shape and architecture. Many of them even had several floors.

All of the dwellings had lamps of some sort that illuminated their entrances. Oil derived from animal fat, maybe? Don't think I mean glass oil lamps, or anything—my consorts weren't quite so modern. These lamps were much cruder, made of some sort of clay, but no less effective for it. These were the lights we had seen from the slopes of Mount Lonesome.

I couldn't really get much more of a feel for the city in the dark, though. I had no idea what its inhabitants were like, or what their everyday lives entailed. That, I suppose, would have to wait until tomorrow.

I'm not sure if Aiyana had ever been to the High Council Fire before, but Inuyyak definitely had, and he knew where to take us. Maybe that was the real reason Tlanextic and K'eyush had sent the violet-scaled consort with Aiyana, rather than simply sending him as brawn. At some point along the way, the violet-scaled consort found a dark, secluded place to dump the Dersite sentry's body where no one would find it for a while. Then we continued on. There was a larger structure towards the center of the city, too big to be a house. It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach it, such was the size of the High Council Fire.

Inuyyak instructed us to wait in the shadows while he slithered up to the door and knocked on it with his Vis. He knocked quietly—loud enough for someone inside to hear, but not so loud as to attract unwanted attention from the neighbors. I wasn't sure if Dersites patrolled the city itself, but it would be safe to assume that they did. After a minute, the door was cracked open, and I could hear Inuyyak having a hushed conversation with whoever was on the other side of the door.

Whoever lived within the large building obviously didn't seem too pleased by our presence, but Inuyyak was able to win them over, because he waved with the tip of his tail for us to come. I was the last one inside.

There were crude wooden tables set up all over the interior, with what almost resembled a bar counter lining one of the walls, and a ramp in one corner that led up to the higher floors. I think this place was the closest thing the High Council Fire had to a tavern. A grayish blue-scaled consort—middle-aged, neck hoods that were less angular than those of the Treefolk—greeted us after closing the door.

"I am Tanaraq of Clan Inokksuk, and thiss iss my esstablishment," the bluish-scaled consort introduced himself. "Show yoursselvess to the bassement—Inuyyak knowss the way. If there iss anything you need, do not hessitate to assk. I will ssummon you when the Faithful hass arrived."

And with that, Inuyyak led us over to the ramp leading upstairs. Rather than going up the ramp, however, he went around to the side and tapped a knot in the wood, causing a small doorway to slowly swing open. It was like a little closet under the stairs, stocked with foodstuffs and some kind of alcohol. Inuyyak pushed aside a stack of supplies and lifted up a small section of the floor—I wouldn't have been able to tell it was a trapdoor just by looking at it—beckoning us to climb inside.

And so we went, one by one, Inuyyak bringing up the rear, down into the basement. Down here, there were a whole lot more stacks of supplies. This tavern must get busy during the day. "Who all stays here?" I asked Inuyyak.

The violet-scaled consort gave a contemptuous huff. "Dark Oness, mosst of the time, when they do not wish to ssleep in their campss. I believe they are forbidden to do sso by their ssuperiorss, but there iss much that the eyess of their fort do not ssee."

I blinked. "Dersites stay here? Are you kidding me?"

"If Tanaraq denied them, he would be killed." Inuyyak shrugged. "And bessidess, a tavern full of Dersites iss the lasst place they would expect a resisstance meeting to take place. I doubt they even know of thiss bassement'ss exisstence."

"So no one thinks the tavern keeper is a collaborator, then?" I asked. I could think of many examples throughout history where people who accommodated the enemy were considered scum by their neighbors. Good thing my consorts obviously weren't humans…

"We have accommodated and ssubmitted to the Dark Oness' rule ssince the defeat of the Bear," Aiyana replied. "Doing thiss for the passt few centuriess—and not consstantly rebelling as the Desert Fires did—hass lulled the Dark Oness into a falsse ssensse of ssecurity. They have grown lax. The Northern Fires are a ssleeping beasst, waiting to be awakened. And when we are awakened, nothing will ssave these Dark Oness from our fury."

"Well, alrighty then!" I nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Glad to finally wake you guys up."

We ended up waiting less than an hour before Tanaraq came to retrieve us. That was mildly surprising—I hadn't been expecting anything to happen until morning. I was glad the Northerners acted fast. I don't think it was even midnight, yet. Then again, I haven't actually known what time it was since…well, since before all this started. You know, that one time when humanity wasn't extinct?

I was also expecting business to be conducted in the basement, but I was surprised again when Tanaraq told us to come upstairs.

"My tenantss have been drugged in their ssleep," the bluish-scaled consort explained as we ascended. "Nothing will be waking them tonight."

I was the last one out. I sealed the floor hatch and closed the closet door, turning around to face a tavern full of consorts. Around twenty, twenty-two, twenty-three; somewhere along those lines. A couple of them had scales that were beginning to gray, and the rest were all various cool colors. There were brown-scaled consorts present, blue-scaled, purple-scaled, and even a dark green-scaled cobra.

But there was one consort who stood out from all the rest. His scales, too, were beginning to gray—the sign of advanced age—but they were still a vibrant lime green. He also had wider neck hoods, and his eyes were a bit more slanted and almond-shaped than everyone else's. Lime Scales was a Sand Dweller, no question about it. Which would then make him…

"Hello again, Inuyyak. It hass been ssome time ssince your lasst visit. How iss Tlanextic these dayss?" Lime Scales asked.

"Fine," the violet-scaled consort rumbled, clearly not in the mood for a conversation.

"I ssee your converssational sskillss haven't improved any over the yearss," Lime Scales remarked. He then turned to the rest of us. "My name iss Achcauhtli of Clan Tlaxata, and I am the Faithful of the High Council Fire. My friend Tanaraq, here, roused me from my ssleep with ssome rather compelling taless. I would ssee them proven true."

"Yess, I do not fancy being pulled away from my resst in the middle of the night, Achcauhtli," one of the other gathered consorts, an indigo-scaled specimen, grumbled. "The Underground had better have good reasson for thiss."

"Be ssilent, Unalaq," a navy blue-scaled cobra spoke up. I could see the consort actually roll its eyes—though I'd seen Glimmering Scales repeat the same action time after time, it still kind of looked weird to see a cobra doing such a…such a…a _human_ gesture. Navy Scales went on. "The Underground would never gather all the clan chiefss unless…" He turned his gaze to me, his pupils narrowing to slits. "Could the rumorss be true…?"

Murmuring arose amongst all the gathered consorts…the chiefs of the twenty clans of the Northern Fires, unless Navy Scales was lying. Which I'm fairly sure he was not.

"Enough!" the dark green-scaled consort raised his voice above all the others, ushering in a new silence. "Allow the sstrangerss to introduce themsselvess, then we may proceed."

Achcauhtli the Faithful, who'd been quietly watching the clan chiefs bicker amongst themselves with some small amount of amusement, cleared his throat and took the floor once again. "Yess, cusstomss musst be followed. Name yoursselvess."

Aiyana slithered forward, fully aware that the eyes of all twenty clan chiefs were fixated on her. If she felt any pressure, though, she didn't show it. "I am Aiyana of Clan Unagwe. Thiss iss Inuyyak, alsso of Clan Unagwe, whom I believe you have already met…" The brown-scaled female introduced Scales next, and there were murmurings of surprise at the presence of a Treefolk, who were known for rarely leaving their forests. And when it was my turn to be introduced, Aiyana looked unsure of what to say. After a second or two, though, she made up her mind, and turned back to the Faithful. "I wass named an Acolyte by Tlanextic. I bear the Words."

That really got Achcauhtli's attention. The lime-scaled Faithful leaned forward, his tongue darting in and out, unconsciously tasting the air. "You have the Words, you ssaid?" he asked. I don't know, there'd been something off-putting about him to begin with. An odd sense of humor, maybe; I just didn't like how jovial he sounded. But now, all trace of that was gone. The Faithful grew very solemn. "You should have told me that to begin with, and we may have dispensed with all these unnecessary formalities. Come, child, let me hear the Words…"

Aiyana slithered forward once more, approaching the Faithful. She dipped her head and leaned forward, whispering something that only Achcauhtli could hear. When she was done, the Faithful could not help but widen his neck hoods in surprise. Maybe a lot of evidence pointed to me being the Knight, but considering how I was a figure of mythology to these people… I could understand their inherent skepticism.

I decided to try my best to give that skepticism a swift kick in the derriere out the window. I stepped forward and raised one of my hands, palm-up. I focused on my Aspect and conjured a modest flame. Once I had the fire in my 'grasp', I started weaving it in and out of my fingers, almost like I was rolling a quarter between my knuckles.

"Hey, guys, uh…" I cleared my throat, squeezing my fist around the flame and extinguishing it. "I'm the Knight. Yes, _the_ Knight… Uh, you've probably all heard of me, and I just wanted to-"

"That iss prepossterouss!" Unalaq exclaimed. "How could that creature be the Knight? Jusst because he can perform fancy trickss with fire doess not mean that-"

It was my turn to interrupt him, now. While he spoke, I used my Aspect to pull the cushion that the indigo-scaled clan chief was sitting on out from under him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Many of the other clan chiefs broke out into laughter—it was fairly obvious that Ultralack, or whatever his weird Northerner name was, was not very popular.

"Can cheap fire tricks do _that?_" I raised an eyebrow as Unalaq angrily regained his balance. "No, they can't. But a Vis can. And I'll also have you know that I've already had to go to great lengths to prove myself to the other two tribes; I'm really not in the mood for this, right now."

This time, the Faithful was the one who called for silence. When the room quieted down once more, he continued to speak. "The Words have been given. Thiss alsso coincidess with a message I recently received from Aztlán, sspeaking of the Knight'ss coming to my own peopless. His identity wass confirmed by Matlal, He Who Sees All."

Even though Matlal was a Sand Dweller shaman, he really must be pretty well-known even in the North, because his name had an effect on many of the gathered clan chiefs. Unsurprisingly, though, Unalaq seemed unconvinced. "Forgive my lingering sskepticissm," he apologized without sounding very apologetic, "but I fail to ssee how a few whisspered wordss and the ramblingss of an old Sand Dweller priesst can consstitute proof that thiss creature iss in fact the Knight. I do not believe it."

Scales started forward, baring his fangs in anger. Oh boy, now that clan chief's really done it…

"Lissten to me, you old fool," Scales snarled. "I doubt you'd recognize a good opportunity to tear down Hyperion even if it whipped you across that morass you call a face-"

"Scales, dial it down a bit," I started to say, but Scales silenced me with one of his death glares.

"No, I will _not_ 'dial it down', whatever that meanss," Scales shot back. "I will not sstand idly by while that fool inssultss you!"

"What our friend the Treefolk iss trying to ssay iss that, ultimately, it doess not matter if our friend here iss the Knight or not, though all evidence points to the affirmative," Aiyana stepped in before Scales could really tear the indigo-scaled douche chieftain an asshole. Too bad, if you asked me; Scales losing his shit was always a sight to see, especially if the recipient of his wrath was someone other than _you_. "What _doess_ matter iss the fact that he hass managed to rally the other two tribess to march on the Denizen. Ssuch unity hass not exissted ssince the time of the Old One, and we would be remiss to allow it to pass uss by."

Sure, she was simply reiterating what K'eyush and Tlanextic had said to us, but that didn't make it any less true. It was too bad that the wisdom of the Unagwe elder and Faithful was not present in all the clan chiefs. Achcauhtli, at least, was on our side, and seeing as how he commanded the Underground, that was what counted. I got the feeling that the clan chiefs…while it would be untrue to say that they were unimportant, I think they seemed to serve as more figureheads than anything else. Almost like a puppet government—they were allowed to continue existing, but they had little real power with the Dersites looming behind them.

These clan chiefs certainly did not command the same respect as the clan chiefs of the Treefolk or the Sand Dwellers. But it was not really their fault; I could only imagine what a wound to their pride it must have been to spend their lives in submission to the Dersites, waiting for the arrival of the Knight and forcing themselves to remain complacent until that finally happened.

Well, now it happened, and with the exception of Unalaq, the rest of the clan chiefs seemed eager to start the long-awaited revolution. When Aiyana finished speaking, many of them rose to get a better look at me, all of them murmuring amongst themselves.

The dark green-scaled clan chief, who seemed to command the most authority in the room other than the Faithful, scrutinized me with a steely gray-eyed gaze. "_Eyess of red_…" he murmured. "_He Who Walkss Tall…_ Jusst like the Old One, according to the Firsst Sstoriess. She did not share our appearance. Why should the Knight?"

The whole meeting had taken less than fifteen minutes. After that, the clan chiefs all showed themselves out of the tavern. Tanaraq went outside as well, for a moment—I watched as he snuffed out the flame in the lamp hanging above the entrance. "It iss happening," he said excitedly to us as he slipped back inside. "Thiss very night, it iss happening."

"He mean the revolution?" I asked Aiyana after a few moments of silence.

The brown-scaled female nodded. "The chiefss are going to sspread the word to the ssenior warriorss, and they will in turn rouse everyone elsse." I then asked about the lamp, prompting Aiyana to go on. "It iss cusstom to have a lamp shining over the entrance to every home. That way, one musst alwayss pass through light to enter, and therefore leave any malevolent shadowss behind. But for centuriess, we have awaited the return of the Knight. And on the eave before the inevitable revolution, it wass decreed that every lamp should be extinguished. Messenger cardinalss have likely already been disspatched to all of our citiess…tonight will be a very dark night indeed, all across the North."

"How can you guys mobilize so fast?"

Aiyana fixed me with a benign stare and suggested I ask her that again in half an hour. And so I waited patiently. Tanaraq vanished upstairs, not returning until twenty minutes later. I noticed a small knife floating next to the tavern keeper, held in his Vis. It was stained red with blood.

I already had a good idea of what the tavern keeper had been doing…but I asked anyway. Tanaraq blinked several times, informing me quite offhandedly that he no longer had any Dersite tenants. Any living ones, that is. _Damn_…

A little bit after that, I made good on Aiyana's suggestion and asked her again how the Northern Fires could possibly mobilize so fast. The brown-scaled female had been sharpening her sword when I reminded her, so she quickly finished up and sheathed it. "Come with me," she gestured for me to follow as she started heading up the ramp leading to the upper floors.

The tavern was four stories tall, one of the tallest dwellings in the entire city, and the ramp ran straight up to the highest floor. I noticed all the rooms on the floors that we passed, but I tried not to think about what was inside most of them. Aiyana led me over to one of the windows and slithered outside, making her way up onto the roof.

I decided not to say anything and just go with it. I climbed out the window and used my Aspect to levitate myself up onto the roof as well, standing next to Aiyana as she showed me all the city around us.

"How can we move sso fasst, you assk? We have been waiting to desstroy Hyperion'ss dogss for hundredss of yearss, consstantly planning for thiss day. You could ssay we're ssomewhat prepared." The brown-scaled female gave a quiet, dark chuckle. "Now you will ssee how Northernerss ansswer the call to war."

It had only been half an hour since the clan chiefs left, and every single lamp in the city had been extinguished. The walls still bore their torches, but within… The High Council Fire had gone dark.

There was a clap of thunder in the distance, and the rain started to intensify.

Looks like the Northern Fires were ready to rock.

* * *

><p>I awoke, as I've awoken many times before, to the sight of a ceiling of green stones. I rolled over in bed, looking out the open window on my bedside. I could see the marble white buildings of the White Keep down below, the rolling black and white grasslands beyond the walls, the mountains in near distance with the river flowing down from them, the rocky knoll in front of the mountains that the river flowed around…<p>

Yep, I was back in my dream turret.

And on my computer screen…another post-it note, right next to the one Theo had left me. I pushed back the blanket and floated out of bed, over to the computer, peered closely at the post-it note. The handwriting scrawled upon it was legible, but barely so.

**GREETINGS, KNIGHT  
>COME TO MY <strong>**THRONE**** LIBRARY WHEN YOU WAKE UP  
>THIS IS QUITE URGENT, SO DO HURRY IF YOU CAN<br>-WK**

So Theo must have introduced the White King to post-it notes. That was…that was just priceless.

Not wasting any time, I climbed out the window and rode the breeze down to the entrance of the citadel. I traded nods with the Royal Guards out front—they let me inside without questioning me, at this point. I walked fast; down the grand hallway, through the oaken double doors, and into the White King's library. The Prospitian monarch was sitting at his desk, massaging his temples as he studied a set of maps, a Marlboro Red hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth. He looked like five different kinds of exhausted, and then another eight kinds of worn out on top of that.

The King looked up from his desk when he saw me coming and was quick to put on a smile, removing his half-moon spectacles. "Ah, good to have you back, Knight," he grinned wanly.

"You look like shit." Hey, I called it like I saw it.

"Yes, I confess I have seen less bleak years than these," the White King chuckled, taking my comment in stride. He rose to his feet and walked out from behind his desk, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "The loss of the Airfield is certainly taking its toll... But enough on that, and on to more important matters. I have a simple request for you. Radio signals are going a bit crazy, and I have thus far been unable to contact the Thane, so I need you to carry a message for me."

I arched an eyebrow. "That it? Just a message? Nothing insane?"

"I want you to tell the Thane to begin marching the Browncoats to the west, not the north. Their new orders are to join the Alabaster Rifles at Fort Terminus. I am sending them through the Badlands," the White King explained, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "You are going to accompany them, Knight. You will help them take the Black Keep."


	38. IV Chapter 38: The Badlands

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Badlands

Dream selves were finicky. I'd been told that several times by several different people.

I'd started by believing that there was some barely-understandable formula to the whole 'dream self' thing. As my waking self, I would lie down and go to sleep. Then I would wake up as my dream self, waking up to the sight of a green ceiling. My dream room on the golden moon of Prospit. That was where I'd always wake up, and that was where I'd met Cruz, even before I'd known him in the real world.

Then I'd decided to leave Prospit not too long ago, moving to the Battlefield at the heart of Skaia, and now I would always wake up at the White Keep, in my dream turret. Perhaps Prospit dreamers were always destined to leave Prospit and to the Battlefield, and I'd simply fulfilled that general expectation. And that made sense, I guess—now that I'd relocated myself to the heart of Skaia, I was waking up on the Battlefield merely because I was _meant_ to do so.

But then all that had been thrown into confusion the other night. Instead of waking up in either my dream room on Prospit, or my dream turret in the White Keep on the Battlefield… Instead, I'd woken up on the back of a burly Prospitian soldier named Firehands…and it'd become apparent to me that even though it'd made no sense to wake up there, my dream self would ultimately awake where Skaia needed it to awake. I'd awoken among the Browncoats that one night because I was needed there.

There were forces at work here that I could barely comprehend. And so, after the night I relayed the White King's new orders to Theo, I found myself waking up every night as my dream self in Fort Terminus, not my dream turret at the White Keep, and…well, I just decided not to think too much about it. I preferred my brain when it _didn't_ hurt. Whether I wanted to or not, Skaia seemed to want me to take part in the push through the Badlands.

There was the equivalent of nearly two divisions encamped here. The Alabaster Rifles, who'd been stationed here ever since the resurgence of the Dersite behemoths, and the Browncoats. The Browncoats had lost a lot of soldiers, but their ragged numbers had been bolstered somewhat with the remnants of the other two divisions that had been annihilated at the King's Airfield. Fort Terminus itself had become merely the center of a much larger camp—the bulk of the soldiers were encamped beyond the fort's walls.

Sending us through the Badlands to attack the Black Keep… Dear God, the White King must have been getting desperate. There had to be something I was missing…otherwise it would be a certain suicide mission.

The Scarred Marshal hadn't been too happy when I'd brought him the news of the Browncoats' impending arrival, my first night waking up in Fort Terminus. I'd told him the orders the White King had given to me. But if he wanted to denounce the orders, he would not do so in front of me. And after a few seconds the Marshal seemed to calm himself.

"The King knows what he is doing," the Scarred Marshal had murmured to me. "He's one of the most meticulous individuals I know. Even as his army burns…he still has a plan." I wasn't sure if I was the one he was trying to reassure.

I'd awoken in a room at the very top of one of the corner towers of Fort Terminus's walls. I didn't bother taking the stairs down to the battlements, and then down to the gates. I would just jump out of the window like I always did. Before I did that, though, I took a moment to yawn, looking out at all of the forces arrayed around Fort Terminus. To my mild surprise, the sea of tents that had surrounded Fort Terminus was now gone, and a large column was being formed to the west.

The Alabaster Rifles were getting ready to move out. Looks like I woke up just in time.

And in the west…in the near distance, I saw dark storm clouds and a gray fog. The Badlands waited for us, almost like some sort of gleeful monster about to chomp down on its next meal.

I glided down to the ground in front of the gate. The jeeps were bringing up the rear of the column, bearing supplies and extra ammunition. If the Alabaster Rifles were going through the Badlands, they'd need those supplies, as well as a way to carry them easily—hence the jeeps. The infantry formed the bulk of the column, organized roughly into their companies and platoons. Also accompanying the column was a battalion of tanks. A platoon of tanks comprised of four units; three platoons plus a mobile CP and two supply trucks formed a company, and three companies formed a battalion. You can do the math.

The individual companies had long since lost their mobile CPs, so all of the armored shit was being run out of a lone mobile command car, which located in the middle of the column. The Scarred Marshal was technically supposed to be there now, but he had obviously wanted to be at the front of the column when they moved out. Presumably, he'd sent the Vice Marshal—his executive officer—to man the CP in his stead.

The infantry numbered roughly eleven to twelve thousand strong, counting both the Alabaster Rifles and the survivors of the disaster at the Airfield—all of them now fell under the command of the Scarred Marshal. Theo had taken command of the Browncoats during their retreat through the Cloudy Mountains, but he'd been more than happy to turn that command over to the Marshal upon his arrival at Fort Terminus. The soldiers themselves hadn't packed very heavily, either. Horrible as it sounded, most of them were not expecting to return.

I felt a sudden jab of curiosity when I spent some time thinking about the Prospitian armies. In the past few days during my dreams, where I've had the company of no one but carapacians, I'd taken it upon myself to learn and understand more about the race of enigmatic snow-shelled Prospitians. It was from the burly Browncoat light machine gunner known as Firehands that I got most of my answers.

After the carapacians were born in the Veil of asteroids that formed the outer boundary of the Medium, they were immediately enlisted in the Prospitian Army and sent to the Battlefield. There, they would serve for several centuries under the White King, and it was only after this initial term of service in the military that they were discharged and allowed to live on Prospit. The soldiers called this particular term of service their Birth Campaign, and most of the soldiers you'd see at any given time were still serving it out. To many of the first-timer soldiers—to whom the war on the Battlefield was the only thing they've ever known—Prospit was like some sort of mythical, far-off paradise. A city-planet of gold, waiting to receive them if and when they completed their service. The stuff of dreams.

I could only imagine what it would be like to be a Prospitian soldier who finished their term of service and was able to look upon Prospit, to walk its golden streets for the first time. To them, it must feel surreal.

Many of the Prospitians ended up returning to the military. The carapacians didn't biologically age, you see. They didn't die of old age. Many of them would ultimately grow weary of life, rejoining the army as a way to die while still serving their home. Some of them were naturally gifted at warfare, and would rejoin the army as veteran noncoms and officers. The Scarred Marshal was an example of this. Firehands was, too, though he was content to remain an enlisted man. Others still would rejoin the army when they found themselves unable to integrate themselves into life on Prospit, after having been fighting the Black King's army for God knows how many years.

Kind of puts some things in perspective, when I think about it. Sure, lots of the Prospitians I've met on the Golden Moon were pretty weird, but all of them had been soldiers at one point. And they were the lucky few who'd survived to the end of their Birth Campaigns, and that took a lot of skill…or maybe just a healthy helping of luck. Most of the Prospitians who had earned Titles were some of the oldest living carapacians—members of the first few generations of Prospitians created by the White King and Queen, ages ago in the past.

I found Theo and the Scarred Marshal at the head of the column. When the Marshal saw me approaching, I could see him muttering under his breath even though I couldn't hear the words he was saying. He was having a bit of a learning experience, lately… Now that everything was going to shit for the Prospitian Army, the Scarred Marshal found himself and the White King relying more and more on us Heroes.

The problem was that he disliked Heroes. He was the kind of military commander who believed he could accomplish anything with discipline and a stern fighting force of good soldiers. He viewed Heroes as unnecessary, and resented the fact that he now had to turn to us for help. I would think what he was feeling was probably how the sword masters of olden times felt when blades were getting replaced by firearms. Either you swallow your pride and start using guns like everyone else, or you get slaughtered.

The Marshal had made his choice…but that didn't mean he had to _like_ it. He resented Heroes…and he also seemed to resent me in particular. He seemed fine with Theo, but he'd never really stopped being kind of an asshole to me.

I think that was just due to my wonderful, accommodating personality. Theo's never had any issues with authority—he was a very good student, and his conscience usually prevented him from breaking rules most of the time—but me, I chafed under it. I can't tell you how many of my earlier teachers used to hate my guts by the end of the year with all my arguing and debating every tiny little issue; that was before I'd matured and learned to channel my assertive will into a stolid, resilient, much more passive stubbornness. I found it almost physically difficult to perform tasks if someone rudely orders me to accomplish them. And so, put me in the same room with a stern, no-nonsense kind of individual like the Scarred Marshal, who expects everyone to march to his own personal drum… Put me in a room with him, and one of us would come out with a black eye.

And as much as he seemed to dislike me, I could only imagine how much the Scarred Marshal would hate Gino, if the arrogant dickwad ever decided to grace us with his presence. Or—oh, God, just the thought of this makes me laugh—how the Marshal would react to Cruz. Jesus, I could see it all now—Cruz lighting up a blunt in the middle of the Marshal's command post…the Marshal getting ripshit pissed, ordering Cruz out of his tent…Cruz simply smiling, blowing a plume of smoke into the Marshal's face, and telling him to '_Chill, man, just let the coolness seep into your vertebrae_'.

Then the Scarred Marshal would probably shoot him.

Of all of us, Theo was probably the best one to work with the Scarred Marshal. Cass probably would have done well, too, knowing her… It took discipline for her to be a straight-A student. 'Course, I had no idea what she was up to, lately… No one really used PalHassle, anymore. Cruz and Tami were both on Prospit probably dropping acid or something, Theo spent his time here on the Battlefield… No one had heard from Gino or Gwen in several days, and God only knew where Anna was.

Or, I suppose I should say God only knew _when_ Anna was. And Cass… I think Cass was still on her planet. Like me, her quest was pretty solitary, and no one had really heard from her. Or my Sprite… I really don't understand why she kept my Sprite around. What was wrong with _her_ goddamn sprite? I hadn't seen her in a fucking month. What if she didn't like me anymore, or what if…?

_Fucking shit,_ I have had it with those thoughts. Think about something else, think about something else…

"You alright, dude?"

I yanked myself out of my own mind and back into reality. Theo was standing in front of me, giving me a weird look. "Yeah, uh…"

"Thinking of Cass?" Theo asked. When I gave him a look of my own, he went on to clarify. "You always get that face when we talk about her. Makes _me_ feel sad just lookin' at it. Don't tell me you _still_ ain't been able to talk to her, yet."

"Okay, I was nearly blackout drunk the first time she met me, and I made a complete ass out of myself," I growled. "Then it takes me a year to screw up the courage to have a full conversation with her, and then the fuckin' world _ends_ the _next fucking day_. I swear it's like the universe wants to keep this from happening."

"Skaia has its ways, bro." Theo shrugged. "Maybe…maybe there _is_ some reason why you haven't been able to contact her all this time. We probably won't find out what it is for a while, though…if ever. And for the record, that first time you met her, she thought you were hilarious."

Eager to change the subject, I gestured with my head over in the Scarred Marshal's direction. He was busy conferring with two individuals dressed entirely in black, armed with assault rifles. Rangers. "Still have the Pale Marksman in our corner?"

Theo nodded. "Yeah, the Rangers are in the Badlands as we speak. We'd be rollin' blind if it weren't for those guys. The Marksman seemed to like you—those things she said about you when she recruited you for that outpost op in the Cloudy Mountains were some of the nicest things I've heard come out of her mouth. What'd you do to earn her respect?"

"Nothing major." I shrugged. "Flew out over a Dersite camp and lazed a radar jammer—the one that kept the Prospitians from detecting the bombing run that took out the Airfield. Fat lot of good it did, though…"

"Naw, I think that'd probably do it," Theo chuckled. "She likes it when people are able to pull crazy shit like that. Just don't make a habit of it, or else she'll start to consider you a danger to her men. C'mon, let's see what's up with the Marshal. Try not to piss him off today, will you?"

"Sure."

That being said, I just went ahead and kept my mouth firmly clamped while Theo called out to the Marshal. "Trouble up ahead?"

"There is always trouble ahead," the Scarred Marshal grunted. "You just never know how _far_ ahead."

The two Rangers stepped back and saluted the Scarred Marshal, who dismissed them with a nod of his head. They filed past us silently, speaking only as they passed me. "_Knight,_" both of them touched their fingers to their brows in a respectful salute as they passed me by. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd been part of the group of Rangers who'd witnessed me destroy the Dersite radar jammer. That little stunt seemed to be winning me more fame than I'd ever intended.

That wasn't really something I wanted. When a lot of people start hearing about you doing crazy things like that… I just didn't want the Prospitians—or even my consorts, by extension—to start thinking that I could lead them to any kind of victory. Because I can't.

I mean, I can definitely help them along the way, but… I'm no leader. I leave that shit to the clan chiefs, and to the officers. They run the show. They point at an obstacle and I violently remove it, 'cuz that's what a Knight is supposed to do. A lord says _'Do this'_, and his knight goes and does it. I was more of a weapon than anything else. A blunt instrument.

The Scarred Marshal continued to speak to Theo. "Fortunately, all the Pale Marksman has found on our route is a small town. Ruins, nothing more."

"We can't go around it?" Theo asked.

The Marshal shook his head. "Terrain to the south is impassable, and the plains to the north have lethal radiation levels. We're heading through a corridor of sorts through the Badlands, and it would take us days, maybe even a week to reach the Black Keep if we went around. This is time we do not have."

"The Black Keep is on the other side of the Badlands?" I asked.

The Scarred Marshal closed his eye, taking a moment to breathe deeply. "Yes, Knight, the Black Keep is on the western boundary of the wastes. Any more geography questions to waste my time with?"

I didn't flinch. "Yeah, uh, how do you guys have a fort so close to the Black Keep? I mean, you'd think it would've gotten leveled just from the proximity."

The Scarred Marshal held my gaze for about seven straight seconds before turning back to Theo, who stopped glaring at me the moment he was in the spotlight. "We're moving out, Thane. Give the order. I will retire to the mobile command post—send a runner to me if the Rangers report in again."

And with that, the veteran Prospitian division commander stalked off, heading towards the middle of the column.

"Just can't keep your trap shut, can you?" my best friend grumbled.

"What, I asked two simple fucking questions to the guy," I protested. "Sue me, why don't you?"

"Hold that thought," Theo held up his hand, silencing me. With that, he focused on his Aspect, summoning a powerful wind about himself, propelling him about thirty feet up into the air. When he was up there, he seemed to conjure up what looked like a ball of concentrated wind…only to send it hurtling away from him, so fast that it vanished within a second. A loud _**CRACK**_ reverberated through the air, almost like a clap of thunder, but harsher and more contained.

There was a loud, rumbling wave of sound as every vehicle started their engines. At Theo's signal, the column started moving west, towards the gray fog that hung thick in the near distance. My best friend released his hold over the wind and landed next to me gracefully, continuing to walk beside me even after he made landfall. "Did you just break the sound barrier or something?" I asked him.

"Somethin' like that, yeah." Theo cleared his throat and pulled out a small tin of Altoids, popping one of the breath mints into his mouth. He then turned his attention back to me. "Sorry, I should've been more clear earlier. When I said '_Don't piss off the Marshal today,_' I _really_ meant that you shouldn't even speak. I'm sure you've noticed a difference in the White King since the loss of the Airfield?"

"He has been a bit frayed, lately."

"Yeah, well, same goes double for the Marshal," Theo explained. "Only instead of getting absent-minded and exhausted like the King does, the Marshal just gets angrier and angrier. And he was angry _before_ things started getting bad."

"Can't imagine being ordered to march through the Badlands has helped any," I remarked.

We reached the Badlands within forty minutes. We were moving at a pretty steady pace—not quite jogging, but still faster than normal marching. This seemed to be the norm for the Prospitian soldiers; perhaps carapacians tire much more slowly than we do.

Entering the Badlands wasn't a dramatic occurrence, or anything. No one really even realized we'd crossed over into the wastes until long after we'd actually arrived. We passed through some low mountains—the same range which Outpost 34-W had been in, where we'd first encountered the Dersite behemoths. Then it was into the Badlands. First we were enveloped by the thick gray fog. Then, bit by bit, the grass faded away, and the black-and-white chessboard pattern of the earth vanished, gave way to an ugly burnt brown color. And when the fog grew not quite so thick, we found ourselves emerging into another world. Dark storm clouds hung ominously low over our heads, and thunder growled in the distance. I think I could smell rain, too.

There were other smells… A bitter taste to the wind, and something else, something acrid… A faint odor of smoke. There were no fires nearby—it was more like there'd been a colossal fire here a long time ago, and the smell had never quite gone away. Actually, I was probably right; I remembered the White King explaining to me how the Badlands had been created. They had once been a beautiful region, chosen by the Black King to be the manufacturing ground of his behemoths—the bishops, rooks, and knights that towered above the rest of the soldiers, spreading havoc wherever they went.

And so, the White King sent in the Royal Air Force and completely leveled the entire region, turning it into a charred, blackened wasteland. There had obviously been mountains in this part of the Battlefield, but even they had not been able to withstand the fury of whatever the Royal Air Force had hit them with. Hills had been transformed into swathes of sharp, steep, sheer rock formations. If there'd been rivers, the riverbeds had long since been cracked and ruined along with the land through which the rivers used to flow.

This was a dead place.

The ground was hard and colorless, and though it may have been an illusion, it almost looked like there was a thin layer of ash covering the rocky earth, constantly being blown about by the breeze. The horizon was broken by the uneven landscape, and the ground itself was filled with chasms and cracks, broken hills, and even a few gigantic craters.

We marched in silence for a pretty long time. Several hours. During this time, I could spy the broken, ruined remains of a mountain range far to the south, just peeking over the horizon. The further we traveled, the closer the jagged crags that had once been mountains grew…an impenetrable thicket of rock. Maybe the Rangers, or perhaps even a small infantry force, could traverse terrain like that, but there was no way in hell our entire column could.

No one spoke, really. I'd gotten used to the soldiers mouthing off with each other during long marches, but today they were all silent. It was as if this place; its shadows, its wind, its darkness—even if we made a sound, it would just be swallowed, like we were speaking directly into walls. Other than the wind, the rumbling thunder, the soft hum of our vehicles' engines, there was no noise whatsoever. Skaia was a strange place, and even stranger when it was wounded.

I also had a little chill that would crawl up my spine every so often. I felt like I was being watched… But the Rangers had not reported any Dersite activity anywhere nearby, and I could not see anything strange no matter where I looked… So I just started ignoring the feeling, after a while.

After about five hours of solid, fast-paced marching, we came up on the northern end of the former mountains to the south. The ruined mountain range ran from southwest to northeast, and so it had been drawing closer and closer as we moved further west, and the path the Rangers were leading us on happened to coincide with the location of what had once been the northernmost peak. And built at the foot of that peak were the sad remains of what had once been a large, town-like settlement.

None of the buildings had roofs, anymore…or upper floors, for that matter. There were a couple structures that still even had more than one wall, and they were the lucky ones. They looked like houses, personal quarters…larger buildings in the center that had probably contained the base's operations center, the mess hall, the armory… But the attention-stealer of the town was a massive, hulking, charcoal lump of a building that had once loomed over the rest of the buildings in the base. It was much more…grotesque in appearance—it had been a metal building, so rather than simply being obliterated like many of its smaller counterparts, the giant building's walls had been…

It looked like someone had made a model of a warehouse out of butter, put it in the oven for a few seconds until it started to really melt, and then found a way to instantly freeze it. The roof was completely gone, as well as the southern and over half of the eastern walls. And the remaining walls were half-melted away, twisted.

The only things missing were cobwebs and a wayward tumbleweed.

I sure as fuck didn't want to go in there… But, sure as the rain forecast on my planet, we were heading right for it. I looked off to the right, saw that there was nothing to the north of the ruined town. Nothing but plains, by the looks of it…probably had been grasslands back in the day. In any case, it didn't make much sense why we couldn't just roll right through there—it wasn't as if flat wastelands were difficult for tanks and jeeps to drive over, or anything.

But when I pointed this out to Theo, he shook his head. "Don't you pay attention to anything? The Rangers reported that those plains to the north had lethal radiation levels. We can't travel through there without exploding from cancer."

That's right, the Scarred Marshal had mentioned something about radiation. So that meant… "So the Prospitian Royal Air Force used nukes?" I asked next.

"Yeah, something like that," Theo nodded. "Didn't last very long, though. The Prospitians had been working on making nukes for a really long time; when they finally perfected it, they tested it out on the Dersite behemoth facilities. But after the creation of the Badlands and seeing what the nukes had done, the White King scrapped the entire Prospitian nuclear project."

"But why?" I could spot at least a million holes in that logic from a mile away. "Why not fire a nuke at the Black Keep and slam it down the Black King's throat? This fucking war with the Dersites would've been over centuries ago!"

"Yeah, that would make sense to us humans," Theo agreed. "But they aren't human. They're Prospitians. The Prospitians exist to defend Skaia from the Dersites, who want to destroy it. If they used nukes to wipe out the Black King and his armies, though, they would destroy Skaia in the process. The cost would've been too high."

"Well I'm not talking about carpet bombing the whole fucking place to glass! All they'd need is a single nuke to take out the Black King, then the rest of the Dersites would-"

"No, dude, you don't understand!" Theo took a deep breath, trying to stay patient with me. "You don't understand what Skaia means to the Prospitians. It's freakin' _sacred_ to them, man. Like I said, their sole purpose in existence is to defend it. Using nukes against the Dersites… That'd be like saying the Muslims should've burned Jerusalem to the ground during the First Crusade to keep it from the Christians—it would end the wars in the Holy Land…but they would never destroy Jerusalem. Because it is _sacred_ to them. That's what Skaia is to the Prospitians."

I could see what Theo was saying, but I still wasn't totally convinced. "Jerusalem being sacred to Christianity and Islam still hasn't stopped it from being the victim of countless battles, though. Armies on both sides have completely clobbered it just to gain control of it time after time after time! Same thing here—even if the Battlefield is sacred to the Prospitians, that still doesn't seem to stop them from damaging it with all their bombing runs, their ground campaigns. What difference would one more nuke make?"

"The land can recover from bombing runs and ground campaigns. Not from nukes," Theo argued. "Skaia reacts badly with radiation. The Badlands isn't a damaged region of land…it is a _dead_ region of land. And so the Prospitians refused to kill any more of Skaia. Not even to wipe out the Black Keep."

I cast a glance over my shoulder, looking back towards the middle of the column. "Can't really believe our one-eyed friend would go for that."

"Oh, he didn't," Theo clarified. "He argued bitterly with the White King for years, trying to convince him to take out the Black Keep…but the King never gave in. Lucky for the Marshal—the King was largely convinced to scrap the nuclear project by his wife, and if the Marshal kept pressing to keep it going, he probably would've had to deal with the Queen. And she's really not someone you want working against you."

There were two more Rangers waiting for us when we rolled into town. The Scarred Marshal had left the MCP and returned to the head of the column in time to meet with the Rangers before the rest of the two divisions got into town. It turned out that the Pale Marksman and her Rangers were up ahead, scouting out the best possible route through the radiation-filled wastes ahead. The radiation seemed to be concentrated in large pockets, so the challenge was to find a path that ran between those deadly pockets. A path through the wastes that wouldn't give us all radiation poisoning. The Pale Marksman's Rangers had discovered three such paths, and they were in the process of determining which one was the best one to take. They left soon afterwards.

In the meantime, the Scarred Marshal decided to order the column to power down and set up camp for the night. A storm was brewing, and the Marshal figured we could use the wrecked buildings for shelter. The soldiers only started setting up their bedrolls and tents after a perimeter had been established. As I looked at the Prospitians setting up camp, I realized just how much each individual soldier carried in addition to their weapon and ammo. Camp gear, bedrolls, rations… Jesus, they were like pack mules when they weren't in battle.

Finally, though, after sentry duties had been assigned and camp was set up, the soldiers were able to settle in. I could hear music drifting through the wind from several directions as some of the soldiers took up their likely-contraband instruments to try and offset the darkness of the Badlands. Nighttime was beginning to set in, and I had a feeling I'd have trouble seeing my hands in front of my face when it got really dark.

Good thing the Scarred Marshal had the foresight to bring lanterns and torches, which were set up at the sentry posts and at various points throughout the ruins of the town.

I chilled with Theo at the edge of town. He had a deck of cards in one of his pockets, and we ended up playing War for a couple hours until the two Rangers returned once again, this time with more information from the Pale Marksman concerning our westward route. The two of us flew across to the center of town, where the mobile command post had been parked.

The MCP looked like a giant RV on the outside. Step in through the side door, and you found yourself in a surprisingly spacious room with ops stations lining the sides, manned by a lone HQ operator, and a small table in the middle of it all. The two guards stationed at the door of the MCP stepped to the side, allowing us to pass. Theo and me ducked inside, just as the two Rangers were beginning to lay out the prospective route their leader had chosen.

"The Marksman scouted out this route herself, sir," one of the Rangers was saying to the Scarred Marshal as we made our entrance. The Ranger took notice of me and gave a quick nod. "_Knight,_" was all he said in greeting.

"Come." the Scarred Marshal gestured for me and Theo to approach the table. "I will be giving a briefing to the officers in half an hour, but you might as well hear the new intel now while it's fresh. Go on," he nodded to the Ranger who'd just been speaking.

"As I was saying, we've scouted the three prospective routes with rad-detectors, and the Pale Marksman determined the best one to be…"

To our west, we had two major problems. First, the pockets of radiation; and second, more shattered mountain ranges. When people say the Badlands used to be beautiful, it must've been a sort of Swiss Alps, Sound of Music, Grand Tetons kind of beauty, because this place just seemed to be choc-fucking-full of mountains.

Our route would take us northwest across a small plain and into another large mountain range. We would travel through a large valley that ran through those mountains, which would eventually turn back to the west, depositing us close to the western borders of the Badlands. From there, it would be an almost straight shot to the Black Keep. We were expected to be out of the Badlands in two days.

After the two Rangers took their leave, we were left alone in the MCP with the Scarred Marshal. Well, and the HQ operator, too…but he was busy listening to radio chatter at his station, so he didn't really count.

"May I ask you something, sir?" I asked the Prospitian division commander.

The Marshal glanced up from his maps at me, looking at me like I had five heads.

All I could do was shrug. "I'm trying, okay? Look, I know you hate me and all, but seriously. Why is the King sending us through the Badlands? Why now, and not freakin' a hundred years ago?"

The Marshal continued to stare at me for a second or two. Then he released his breath, lowering his head a little, massaging his temples. "I do not know," he replied. "There is a lot the King knows that I do not… We haven't set foot in the Badlands in centuries. Of all the patrols we sent there, only a single soldier ever returned, and he was stark raving mad by the time he stumbled back to Fort Terminus. Still… I have fought alongside the King since the beginning, and he would not send us through the Badlands if he did not think we would survive it, nor would he have us attack the Black Keep if he did not think we could take it."

"But it's the _Black Keep!_" I couldn't let it go that easily. "Massive walls! Thousands of defenders! Behemoths! The fucking Black King—I dunno if you've noticed, but when the Kings fight with their scepters, they get fucking massive! If we're gonna take him down, we're gonna need a hell of a lot more firepower than what we're packing now. We'll bleed out our strength getting through the Keep's defenses, then the Black King will just come out Sauron-style and curb-stomp us!"

"If that is what Skaia would have of us, then it will be a good death," the Scarred Marshal countered my mini-outburst with some pure emotional ice, daring me to argue further. He may not have been happy about this mission, but he was certainly ready to die. "Perhaps I will be able to give the Black King a scar of his own before the end. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to gather my brigade commanders-"

Before the Marshal could step towards the door, however, the HQ operator sitting at one of the stations suddenly tensed, holding one of his headphones tight against his left ear. "Sir? Sir, I'm picking up some disturbing chatter from one of the sentry posts… I think you should hear this yourself."

"Switch to speakers," the Marshal ordered, stepping smartly over to the operator's station.

The feed was distorted and full of static—another consequence of the radiation, I think. And even if there hadn't been static, we still wouldn't have understood the first transmission. There was a rush of static, which then partially resolved into screaming…screaming, and something else that I couldn't identify… Screeching? Growling?

Then silence. The transmission was cut off. "_Sentry Post Five, repeat your last,_" another voice ordered. "_Sentry Post Five, please respond! Sentry Pos-_"

I was suddenly conscious of an unmistakable sound in the near distance. Weapons discharge… Someone was shooting at something. Then a third voice started speaking on the channel.

"_Lieutenant! This is Sentry Post Seven, we're being swarmed out here! There's gotta be hundreds of them! We need reinforce-_" And with that, Sentry Post Seven's transmission went dark, just like the last one.

"_Damnation, all sentry posts report!_" the Lieutenant on the radio shouted. "_What is happening out there?_"

The gunfire started to increase, and even through the walls of the MCP we were actually able to hear the screaming.

"I've heard enough," the Scarred Marshal growled. He crossed over to the front of the MCP and approached the master console, pounding his fist down onto a large orange button. Immediately, a blaring alarm started to howl across the ruined town, coming from the sirens mounted on top of the MCP. The Marshal then activated a universal channel and ordered all troops to full readiness. "Our perimeter is under attack. Prepare to defend yourselves. I repeat; prepare to defend yourselves!"

No sooner had the Marshal killed the channel than he loaded his pistol and was out the door. The town outside was in a frenzy—soldiers were scrambling out of their tents and retrieving their weapons, reporting to their officers. It was the epitome of organized chaos; there were soldiers running this way and that, but it was all really quite synchronized. The Alabaster Rifles and the Browncoats were well-oiled machines.

Many of the lamps had gone dark, rendering visibility to be almost moot. Some soldiers had taped flashlights to their rifles, but other than that…we needed more light. I could also see muzzle flashes lighting up the edges of town, in time with the staccato weaponsfire. I could almost see the silhouettes of the soldiers fighting out there, fighting against… I don't know what. But they were hunched, misshapen, and they moved really fuckin' fast…

Theo and I followed the Scarred Marshal into town. The Prospitian commander was armed with a pistol in one hand and a wickedly sharp-looking knife in the other, looking as badass as could be. We followed him towards the gunfire. Luckily, all the commotion seemed to be coming from the northeast outskirts of the base, so it wasn't like we were being surrounded, or anything…

But then again, it still wasn't a good situation. We couldn't really retreat anywhere if we wanted to—whatever was attacking us had effectively cut off any chance of retreating to the east, there were mountains to our south, radioactive cancer fields to the north…and we would be hard pressed to make an organized push westward before the officers had been briefed on the Rangers' newly-plotted route through the radiation.

More and more soldiers poured out of the woodworks, rallying behind the Scarred Marshal. As junior officers organized these carapacians into formation, the Marshal gestured for Theo and me to go on ahead. "Get up there now and help my boys!" he roared. "Keep things together until I get there! _Go!_"

And so Theo and I went. Theo summoned the wind to him and took to the skies. I jumped into the air and propelled myself upward with my dream flight. I didn't even need to will myself to move forward—I simply let Theo's wind do all the work for me.

Theo noticed me doing this and gave me a look. "You're like the assholes on the highway who drive really close behind those big-ass trucks so they can save on gas!" he shouted at me.

"I wanna keep as much gas as I can, I like the way it smells!" I shot back. Theo…well, he didn't have any reply to that. I don't think anyone would really be able to reply to that. Mission accomplished.

We made landfall at the outskirts to the northeast of the town, where we'd heard all the gunfire coming from. It was really dark and we could only see snippets of light from the flashlights some of the soldiers wielded. I squinted, trying to see in the dark. I couldn't really hear very well over the gunfire and the panicked yells of the Prospitians who were fighting for their lives.

I ended up generating a Force field about myself. Now, I don't mean an actual force field, I mean a _Force_ field—a loose field of the Force Aspect being generated around me. I hold individual atoms in place at a certain distance from me, and I could feel when they were moved, the tiny little eddies of kinetic energy they stirred up. Only problem was that I'd barely started creating the field when it was suddenly disrupted by something small…small and fast.

In a flash, I was on my back, knocked off my feet by a strong creature. Before I could even call out to Theo, I felt hands close over my throat, choking me. I tried to break the grip, but it was too strong. The creature's skin felt like a hard shell…almost like a carapace.

I closed my eyes and retrieved my Lightbowie from its strife specibus, gripping it in my right hand. I pulled my knife close, thrust it up and under the attacker's ribcage. It gave a high-pitched screech of pain…and then collapsed on top of me. I swore for a few seconds, wrinkling my nose at the stench of the dead creature, pushing it off me. I then produced a large flame around my fist so I could see what the fuck had just attacked me.

It looked like a corpse. Dark, misshapen carapace that looked like it'd been melted…long, hooked claws, super-sharp teeth… Lips that had long since shriveled back, sunken opaque white eyes that almost seemed to glow with a light of their own…

There was a low growl coming from the left. I turned just in time to see another one of those mutated abominations bounding at me, its white eyes reflecting the firelight for a moment before it bounded into view. Not having very much time to react, I concentrated the flame and shot it right through the creature's face. It was quick, bloodless. The creatures didn't dissolve into grist or anything, so they obviously weren't any kind of underling…

A new resolve filled me, and I spread my arms out wide, levitating myself up above the ruined buildings. I could easily hold my own against these creatures, but too many soldiers had gone down; I had to help them out. And the thing that was killing them the most was the darkness—they couldn't see the abominations until the decaying creatures were on top of them.

More flames flickered into existence around my hands and my forearms, almost as if I'd dipped my arms into oil…but I was unaffected by the heat. Then I took a deep breath and gave the flames as much juice as I could muster. They roared up almost twenty feet high, brightening to an almost blinding level. The core of the geysers of flame comprised of fire that was so bright it actually burned white, the outer reaches of the flames a bright orange at their darkest.

I wasn't making this fire to burn all the creatures, though. I was acting as a light source. With my fire, the vast majority of the northwest outskirts was lit up, and the soldiers were able to see what was attacking them. There was a brief moment of shock and revulsion at the mutated abominations, and that hesitation cost two or three soldiers their lives. But the moment passed quickly, and the soldiers were able to kill whatever was attacking them. Then they started grouping together, fighting in groups of five or six.

Theo jumped from one part of the fight to another, moving around constantly, helping the soldiers wherever he could. He didn't even use a weapon—the air itself was his weapon. He removed heads with precise blasts of concentrated wind, crushed windpipes…at one point I even saw him literally rip the lungs out of one of the creatures by seizing control of the air it had just breathed.

Our situation wasn't looking good, though. My fire lit up this part of town, but it also lit up a fair way into the north. I could see how many of those creatures were coming after us… There was a good-sized crowd coming our way, and we'd be hard-pressed to hold out against them on our own.

But then suddenly, the officer on watch—I think it was the Lieutenant we'd heard over the radio when we'd lost Sentry Post Seven—started shouting out new orders, and all of the embattled soldiers quickly gathered up the wounded, disengaged, and retreated. They fought off the abominations that nipped at their heels, able to easily do so thanks to my firelight. As a result, when most of the horde of mutated creatures reached us, they did not go through the embattled soldiers like a whirlwind of knives. Instead, we'd already retreated, so they gave chase, pursuing us further into town.

This must have been part of some plan that I wasn't aware of. I flew slowly back towards town along with the soldiers, keeping the way well-lit for them. And a very short way into town, we came across a rapidly-prepared defensive line. A row of lamps snapped on, providing more than enough illumination for the soldiers to see what they were shooting at, in addition to my firelight.

Led and organized by the Scarred Marshal, nearly three hundred soldiers had formed a defensive line across the streets of the town, reinforced by machinegun nests. All the soldiers who'd been caught fighting for their lives in the outskirts of town streamed through the gaps in the defensive line, clearing the impromptu defending force's lines of fire.

"_Kill 'em all!_" the Scarred Marshal thundered. Hundreds of soldiers opened fire at the same time, ripping through the first wave of mutated abominations. The machinegun emplacements opened fire next, firing in short, controlled bursts. The abominations were getting torn apart—body parts and blood were flying all over the place.

But the worst was when the abominations' assault was near its breaking point, and they were actually able to reach the defensive line in some places, resulting in more hand-to-hand fighting. Soldiers right at the front quickly fixed bayonets, meeting the abominations' attacks with steel. They all worked together quite cohesively. More than once, I'd spot a soldier holding a creature at bay while a second Prospitian stepped in and killed it while it was occupied.

The Scarred Marshal had placed himself at the weakest part of the line—the longest gap between the machinegun nests. And he was a fucking beast in hand-to-hand combat. He was taking multitasking to another level—one moment he would be dropping creatures with precise shots from his pistol, then he'd be fighting off the creatures that got in close with powerful kicks and elbow blows—finishing the incapacitated abominations off with his knife.

The wind picked up even more, and lightning struck the ground somewhere not too far away, lighting up the entire area for a split-second. I kept my fires burning, even when it started to rain. I was glad I'd cut my hair short last month, because having longer hair in wind like this would have been such a pain. And the whole time, I felt an incredible urge to drop back down to the ground and join in the fight. I could have incinerated dozens of the creatures without even breaking a sweat…but I probably would've roasted a few Prospitians, too. I was still working on keeping my fire under control.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the surviving abominations broke off the attack and bounded away, sometimes on all fours. They melted into the shadows and vanished, ushering in a temporary silence that settled over the town. Everyone stood still for a few moments, catching their breath and recovering from the general shock that those mutated things had brought.

I was able to release my fire and sink back down to the ground. I met up with Theo at the part of the line where the Scarred Marshal was; which was good, because I had questions. Lots and lots of questions.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" I gestured at all the dead creatures. "What were those things?"

"They were Dersites once, but no longer," the Scarred Marshal murmured. "This explains our missing patrols…" The Marshal then snapped out of it and returned to reality. Raising his voice to its maximum volume, the Marshal addressed all the soldiers present. "Alright, boys, clean yourselves up and get back to sleep! We have an early morning tomorrow!"

Without a moment's hesitation, all of the Prospitians broke ranks, packed up their weapons and gear, and started making their way back to their tents, talking with each other and cracking jokes as if nothing had happened.

Man, carapacians were weird…


	39. IV Chapter 39: A True Knight

Chapter Thirty-Nine: A True Knight

"You look tired," was the first thing Scales said to me when I met up with him outside the tavern in the central square of the High Council Fire.

"Yeah." I stretched my arms and legs, taking a few moments to let out one of the most satisfying yawns.

"Did you not ssleep well?"

"Oh, no, I slept perfectly fine," I explained to the red-scaled cobra, taking a few steps out into the square, breathing in the fresh air. "I just…well, I just had a bit of a crazy dream…"

The memories of my dream self's escapades in the Badlands with the Alabaster Rifles were still all too clear in my mind. As I've said before, usually my memories of dreams grow fuzzy when I wake up from them, but not this one. Fighting off mutated, nightmarish, radioactive Dersite zombie-like…_things_… Well, in the immortal words of Agent J from Men in Black: "_That's not exactly some shit you just forget._"

It was a crisp morning. Past dawn, not quite Skaiarise… The bluish-yellow light of Skaiarise was beginning to shine faintly in the east, melding with the soft violet light that emanated from the rain clouds of this planet. I have to say…when I wasn't balls-deep in a swarm of underlings or in the middle of getting sacrificed by my consorts; when I actually had enough time to just take a few deep breaths and enjoy the scenery…

I have to say my planet is one of the most beautiful places I've seen. And from me, that's saying a lot. In my Boy Scout days, I've been backpacking and canoeing in some of the most breathtaking places in the country—the tail end of the Rockies in New Mexico, the lakes in Canada just north of the Minnesota border, Yosemite National Park in California…sailing in the Florida Keys… And the Land of Rain and Rivers ranked up there with all those places.

I mean, just come on! An already beautiful landscape on its own…where everything was a constant summer shower, with rain clouds that shined violet…and rivers. Rivers that flowed through the fucking sky. I mean… You just can't beat that!

Whew, I guess I've just smoked too much pot.

But the downside of all these moments is that they always have to come to an end. You take your deep, relaxing breaths, you enjoy the scenery…then you remember that you're in the middle of a fucking revolution.

Word spread incredibly fast through the north of my arrival in the High Council Fire. The Northerners had been waiting centuries for this day, and so when Achcauhtli—the leader of the Faithful—sent out messenger cardinals to all of the other Faithful throughout the North, ordering them to start the revolution… Within a single day, the Dersites had been driven out of every small village and town.

After the Dersites were able to recover from the initial shock, they pulled out of their outposts and stations in the villages, falling back to their forts. They had a fort located at each of the twenty clans' capital cities. But the consorts had planned for this, as well. By the third day of the revolution, the last of the Dersites' lesser forts was captured. Centuries of preparing and planning were at last coming to fruition. There was just one thing left to do. The last bastion of Dersite resistance left in the North was their central fort…the one built into the slopes of Mount Lonesome, overlooking the High Council Fire.

Here in the High Council Fire, when the revolution broke out, we took the Dersite guards by surprise. Destroyed their camps and sentry posts, drove them back to the walls… We spent the next day clearing the dark-shelled carapacians from the city walls. We didn't take too many losses—again, the Dersites had been taken by surprise, and by the time they rallied all they had to defend were the walls…which wasn't a very defensible location when you're being attacked from the inside. We took the walls from them, driving the survivors back to their fort on Mount Lonesome.

And so, we came to Day Four of the Northern Revolution. Today's agenda:

_Wake up._

_Meet Scales._

_Take a piss._

_Capture a Dersite fort._

_Party ass off with consorts._

Oh, good thing I went through that mentally—I almost forgot about item number three.

"Gimme a sec, dude," I said to Scales before we could get moving. I jogged around the corner of the tavern and unzipped my pants, relieving myself into a bush before getting back to Scales. In case you were wondering, the consorts _do_ have bathrooms, but…uh… Well, they're snakes. I won't even describe their bathrooms; all you need to know is that I can't use them.

I hurried back to Scales, who was still waiting impatiently in the square, feeling much better.

Five hundred consorts were standing ready outside the front gate, in the middle of being inspected by the senior warriors and clan chiefs. They weren't in formation, or anything—that was not how my consorts fought. But they were still standing in rough groups; not just a massive, disorganized rabble. An aging, lime-scaled cobra was coiled on top of the front gates, looking out over his fighting force. That was Achcauhtli, and he seemed to be the one heading up the show.

"Why didn't we attack earlier, when we had the cover of darkness?" I asked Scales as we neared the front gates.

"The Green One hass a plan that doess not require darkness to ensure itss success," Scales explained, nodding up towards Achcauhtli. "In truth, sseveral of uss could execute the plan oursselvess, without you…but there would be ssignificant loss of life, as well as a chance for failure. You are the besst one for the job."

"Okay, I'll bite," I murmured, already curious as to what this mystery plan was. "What do I have to do?"

"I'm not the one who should explain it to you," Scales replied. "The Green One will show you what to do. You should go to him now."

"You coming?"

"No." Scales shook his head. "Aiyana and Inuyyak are waiting for me. I will fight alongsside them. They can never ssay that the Treefolk did not help them in their time of need after today."

"Okay, sounds good! I'll, uh… I guess I'll see you out there, then."

I started to walk away, heading towards the walls…but then Scales cleared his throat and said, "Watch your ass out there, Knight." I turned to raise an eyebrow at him, and the red-scaled cobra hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly in a frown. "Did I ssay that right? Your way of sspeaking iss quite sstrange to-"

"You said it perfectly, Scales," I chuckled. "Watch your scaly ass out there, too."

And with that, I jumped into the air, using my Aspect to levitate myself up to the battlements above the front gates, where Achcauhtli was overseeing things. The Faithful did not give much reaction to my arrival, not taking his eyes off the assembled consorts below. "You look as if you jusst ssurvived a battle of your own," the lime-scaled cobra observed.

I know I didn't have any blood or fresh cuts on me, nor the grime of the Badlands…but I must've just looked exhausted. Technically my body had gotten more than enough rest, but… Well… Before, when I was awake, I'd be fighting my way through the Land of Rain and Rivers, trying to unite my consorts. But when I went to sleep, I could just get together with Cruz and sometimes Tami, and we'd just veg out, smoke, maybe go on the odd stoned adventure through the rooftops of Prospit… But it was a good time for my mind to recover.

Now, though… I fight the Dersites alongside my consorts when I'm awake, then I fight the Dersites alongside the Prospitians when I'm asleep. Fighting these dual wars at the same time was taking its toll. My body wasn't physically tired—it was sleeping during the push into the Badlands, after all—but my mind felt exhausted. If I didn't get a break from all this, and _soon_ mind you…

I found myself sorely missing Cruz. Yeah, we had awesome adventures together, but… I dunno, the guy just has a calming aura about him. He can make people chill the fuck out just by being in the same room with them, and…well, I could use some chilling the fuck out right now.

Hell, I was missing Cass, too. A lot. I know if that sounds kinda crazy—I've only had a couple full conversations with her, but… We didn't even get to go on a first date, and now I haven't been able to contact her in over a month, and… I _had_ her! I fucking _had_ her; we were in the middle of cutting class and going out together, after I spent a year trying to work up the courage to talk to her without having my heart explode.

Then the world just decided to fucking end.

Maybe that was for the best… Even if we _had_ gone out, and—hypothetically speaking, of course—even if we'd _had_ a good time… How could you possibly maintain a relationship in the middle of all…all… All _this?_

"_Time is almost up_…"

What the fuck? Who…? I turned around, and I could've sworn I saw a shadowy figure standing in the open doorway of the home on my left. I just saw it out of my peripheries, though, so I turned to look at it…and, unsurprisingly, it vanished. Looks like the Phantom was back, again…

God damn it, I haven't seen the Phantom in four or five days. Not since we were traveling to the High Council Fire on the Nanuk River. I've been seeing it since I was a little kid, but I've still never quite gotten used to it… But I'd enjoyed not seeing it for the past few days, and I was hoping to keep the streak going-

"…Knight?"

I shook my head, returning to reality. Achcauhtli was looking at me now, some small measure of concern visible in his gray eyes. "Sorry," I apologized, massaging my temples for a few seconds. "Sorry, I've just been having some odd dreams. Don't worry, I won't come apart at the seams in the middle of the battle, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I never once had any ssuch resservationss," Achcauhtli assured me. His forked tongue flitted out and tasted the air several times. "I alwayss had faith that one day the Knight…that one day _you_ would come to uss. But never in my wildesst dreamss did I believe that I would be there to ssee it."

I returned the Faithful's gaze. "You don't have any doubts, then? Like the others?"

"I am a part of Clan Tlaxata. I am a Sand Dweller," Achcauhtli explained. "If Matlal, He Who Sees All, confirmed your identity as the Knight…then you musst be the Knight. The Northerners know of and highly respect Matlal, as well, but… Well, in the end, the Northernerss are taking the word of one of my people; it iss only natural for them to want ssome proof of their own. But fear not; I believe you have proven yoursself more than enough these passt couple dayss. And if anyone here still doess not fully believe in you, I think their doubtss will be washed away when the day iss over and the Dark Ones' fort liess in ruinss."

I took another deep breath, grateful for the reassurance even if I'd never admit it. "Scales mentioned you had a plan that needed me." I decided to change the subject and get an answer or two, if the Faithful was willing to spare them.

"Yess, I will show you once the warriorss are in place," Achcauhtli said to me. "It iss something we have labored over for centuriess. Conssidering the level of control and ability you demonsstrated with your Vis, when you firsst arrived in the High Council Fire… I believe you are the perfect man for the job. Come, let uss move the warriorss into possition for the attack."

With that, the lime-scaled consort bellowed out a series of orders to his senior warriors. Like a chain reaction, the senior warriors all began calling out orders of their own. I knew the consorts who lived in the High Council Fire were, like those who dwelled in Aztlán, members of all the clans in the tribe. I wasn't sure if the warriors were fighting with their own kin…but upon closer examination, it appeared that none of the fighting groups comprised of warriors from a single clan; everyone was mixed together.

I dunno, I kind of liked that. I mean, considering the main objective for my quest on this planet involved unity. Unity of my consorts. And seeing consorts from different clans fighting alongside each other like brothers… Well, maybe uniting the three tribes wouldn't be as hard as it'd seemed before. The Northern Fires and the Desert Fires had already been working together in some way, shape, or form for a few centuries; the Treefolk traded irregularly with the Northerners…

I think the most friction would come between the Desert Fires and the Western Fires. The Western Fires considered the Desert Fires foolish and unintelligent for stubbornly standing their ground against Hyperion's conquest and no retreating into the Sands, even when victory was hopeless, and the Sand Dwellers resented the Treefolk for withdrawing into their forests and not giving them aid.

Still, though, I think that any bad blood there might be between the tribes would—if only for a while—be set aside when we marched on Hyperion's Palace. Yeah, all the tribes had some form of beef with each other, but in the end the cause of all their woes was Hyperion. They would unite to fuck him up before they started getting pissed at each other again. I mean, hopefully the unity that came with fighting Hyperion would last, but… Well, I'm no psychic—or Hero of Time, for that matter—I had no way of knowing. All I could do was hope.

Achcauhtli and several of the clan chiefs moved the force of warriors to the lower slopes of Mount Lonesome, just east of the High Council Fire. They stood in loose formation, waiting patiently for the order to attack. Further up the mountainside, the Dersite fort was abuzz with activity. We weren't the only ones waiting for the assault on the fort—the Dersites had been preparing for the inevitable since we'd driven them from the walls.

Guards were hurrying to their posts on the battlements and towers. There were energy turrets that had been mounted on the parapet at regular intervals, and all the Dersite soldiers were armed with automatic energy rifles, more advanced than the weaponry used by the Prospitian infantry. Now I'm not usually one to worry too much about the future…but I'd be lying if I said those energy turrets weren't making me nervous.

Because they were. I was pretty fuckin' nervous, thanks for asking.

"The warriorss are in place," Achcauhtli declared, though I wasn't quite sure who he was talking to. Kinda stating the obvious, there… The lime-scaled cobra turned towards the dark green-scaled chieftain of Clan Unagwe. He was the one of the clan chiefs who'd stood up for me when doubts over me being the Knight were raised. "Aumanil, I turn command over to you until I return," the Faithful said to the Unagwe clan chief. "Keep the ladss from charging to their deathss, will you? The Knight musst complete his tassk before the attack commencess."

"Jusst don't take too long, Faithful," Aumanil replied. "Thiss day wass centuriess in the making. They will not wait forever."

We didn't actually have anything to worry about, really. Not with Aumanil in charge. I've mentioned before how the Northern clan chiefs, due to oppression by the Dersites, seemed to have become little more than figureheads…but over the past few days, Aumanil was the clan chief who had proven me wrong the most. He was highly intelligent, much more of a tactician than a traditional warrior, but still a fierce fighter. He was probably the best person to leave in charge in lieu of Achcauhtli himself.

As for the Faithful and me, Achcauhtli led me away from Mount Lonesome, taking me in a wide arc around the western shoulder of the peak. Before long, we found ourselves in the woods—the lower reaches of the trees that thrived on the slopes of the mountain. The Dersite fort was still somewhat within our view, but only just; we couldn't see much more than the very top of it. The Faithful quickly spotted a small cliff face of reddish rock nearby, rising up at least eighty feet into the air, surrounded on both sides by thick shrubbery and foliage.

"Tell me, Knight, do you know anything about the underground tunnelss that we have been trying to make over the yearss?" the Faithful asked me.

It rang a bell; I remembered Aiyana or Inuyyak mentioning them during our final push towards the High Council Fire. "Yeah, I was told that every time you built a tunnel, the Dersites—ehm, sorry, the _Dark Ones_ found it and destroyed it. Nothing could get past them."

"Yess, that iss what anyone who iss not part of the Underground believess," the Faithful explained to me. "For two centuriess, we have toiled. Ssome of uss worked on digging decoy tunnelss that ran under the city wallss, but these tunnelss were alwayss shoddily done—the Dark Ones would disscover them sstraightaway. Thiss kept their attention focussed on ssearching for identical tunnelss under the wallss."

"Wait, _decoy_ tunnels?" I frowned, trying to make heads and tails of what the consort was telling me. "What was the real tunnel if all your past tunnels were decoys?"

"_Thiss_ iss the real tunnel." Achcautli took me to the left side of the reddish cliff face, where he proceeded to tear away the thick layer of foliage, revealing more of the reddish rock that made up the cliff…and a wide, dark cave entrance. It had been well concealed—no one would've been able to find it unless they already knew where it was. The lime-scaled cobra led the way, ducking into the cave entrance. "It took our fatherss and grandfatherss, and _their_ fatherss and grandfatherss, over two hundred yearss to complete thiss tunnel. Ssuch a tunnel could have been completed much ssooner under normal circumsstancess, but we had to build it with the utmosst care and ssecrecy. For those reasonss, the Underground hass kept knowledge of thiss tunnel sstrictly to itsself."

I figured it was simply a secret passageway that ran under the mountain and into the Dersite fort. Did Achcauhtli mean to have me infiltrate the place, fight my way to the gates, and find a way to open them? It'd make sense, I guess… If he sent in a strike team of his warriors, more than likely none of them would return alive. Sending me in was a strategic use of resources.

Turns out that I was almost right. The tunnel did lead to the Dersite fort…the only thing was that it didn't actually go inside the defensive structure. Instead, it led to a giant, hollowed-out cavern directly _beneath_ the fort. I could only imagine how something of this size had escaped the Dersites' attention for so long… I guess they'd never invested very much time in checking their own foundations. After all, they'd built their fort on a mountain—who on this planet could tunnel through a mountain?

The Dersites certainly would never suspect the seemingly meek and subservient Northerners of being capable of such a thing… But they'd learned their lesson too late. And now they were about to pay out of their asses.

I could see that the cavern had been very painstakingly created. There were dozens of supporting pillars that had been constructed at various key points throughout the artificial cavern. A couple of them were solid rock, but the majority of them were made of wood.

"The tunnel itsself did not take very long to dig; sstone yieldss to the Vis more eassily than mosst think," Achcauhtli explained to me as we entered the cavern. "Thiss cavern iss the crux of our plan. It alone took uss over a century to complete without alerting the Dark Ones to our pressence, or bringing the mountain down on our headss. The weight of the mountainsside above uss iss evenly disstributed between the sstone and wood ssupporting columnss."

I was beginning to see the big picture, now. "So burn the wooden columns…suddenly the cavern ain't so stable, anymore."

"Exactly," the Faithful nodded. "Now, ordinarily it would take many of uss to burn all the wooden columnss. It musst be ssynchronized, you undersstand, to prevent any one portion of thiss cavern from collapssing before the resst. The Dark Ones would then learn of our ploy before it came come to itss full fruition, and we will be sslaughtered before we even reach the fort'ss defenssess. But with you… You could easily overpower all of us if you sso chose, even if you are not yet aware of it. You're the only one who iss sstrong enough to produce fire hot enough to collapsse thiss chamber on your own."

"Okay…"

There was nothing more to be said, really. When I asked the lime-scaled cobra how I was supposed to get out after I did my job, he suggested I start with the support columns furthest from the entrance. I would then have as much time as it took for the columns to burn through to get the fuck out of dodge. And with that, Achcauhtli took his leave—the warriors were in position to mount the assault on the Dersites, but the Faithful needed to confer with his senior warriors and organize the attack, as well as ensure that the warriors' morale was as high as it could be.

Now left alone in the artificial cavern, I had nothing to do but get to work. I took a couple deep breaths, firing off a few blasts of flame to exercise. This would've been so much easier if I was my dream self, right now—I could just let loose and completely obliterate all those support columns without even breaking a sweat. It was a bit more of a challenge when I wasn't dreaming, but I guess that was how it was supposed to be. Skaia had a knack for making potentially convenient situations more challenging than they had to be.

I approached wooden support column that was furthest from the tunnel entrance and knelt down. I took a few moments to focus on my Aspect, producing a modest flame in my hands. Then I gave it more juice, causing it to grow smaller and brighten to a blinding white color. I could barely look at it without having my eyes water up.

Experimenting, I pressed the concentrated white fire to the base of the support beam. It was almost like the wood was soaked in gasoline, because the entire base of the column was wreathed in flame within three seconds. _Damn,_ I could make fire burn hot…

While that first support column started burning up, I got to work. I ran up and down the artificial cavern, maintaining my white fire and passing it along to all the other wooden support columns as I passed them. In the end, I counted around fifty wooden columns, and I had the whole lot of them on fire and burning up within five or six minutes. And by _then,_ the first columns I'd set ablaze had already collapsed.

I could understand why a consort would have been unable to do this on their own—hotter flames took more energy to sustain, and I was starting to breathe pretty hard by the time I lit up the last support column. By this point, the cavern was practically saturated with smoke, and if I stayed in there any longer I wouldn't be able to breathe at all.

I wondered if, originally, lighting up the support columns had been a suicide mission. I mean…unless a good number of consorts were sent, it would take them a lot longer to set the columns alight. The only reason I'd done it so fast was because I was able to superheat the fire… In fact, being able to produce fire at all with your Vis seemed to be a rare skill, so I actually doubt any of the warriors with that level of skill would have been removed from the fighting… Which in turn meant that any consorts who came down here probably would've been stuck using torches, which would have taken a little while.

When the cavern was saturated with smoke, it then started to fill the entrance tunnel. As I hurried back through it, it was only just beginning to thicken. If I'd been stuck using torches, though…if I hadn't died of smoke inhalation by the time I burned the last of the support columns, then I never would've made it out of the tunnel.

Achcauhtli was taking a risk, temporarily removing me from the rest of the warriors to take care of the cavern, hoping I'd make it back in time…but so far the risk was paying off. The cavern was burning and no one had to die to keep it that way—my fire was more than enough for the job.

Smoke was beginning to waft gently from the entrance of the tunnel by the time I emerged back outside, pausing momentarily to take a deep breath of fresh air. Then I was off, sprinting as fast as I could. I kept my breathing under control, timing it with my footfalls; in through the nose, and out through the mouth.

I dodged trees and had to jump over tree roots at several points, but these were minor obstacles. I was out of the woods and rounding the tip of Mount Lonesome's western shoulder in no time.

Overall, by the time I returned to the Northerners' position, nearly half an hour had elapsed since I'd started burning down the cavern supports, and Skaiarise had already happened. I hadn't realized it'd been so long—it felt like it'd only been ten minutes, or so… Time sure flies when you're having fun, I guess. Achcauhtli was behind the lines, towards the center, so I had to run through the Northerners' left flank to reach him.

Many of the consorts stared at me as I ran past. There wasn't any cheering, or anything…more like a quiet reverence. I'm not trying to sound like I'm building myself up, or anything—that was really the best way I could describe these consorts' attitude towards me. I guess I could understand why they acted like that—you spend millennia waiting for someone special to arrive, and when they finally _do_ arrive… I wondered how surreal my presence must feel to them.

Achcauhtli regarded me with some measure of surprise when I showed up. "It iss done, then?" the Sand Dweller asked.

"Yep," I replied. "How long is it gonna take?"

"You musst have used ssome powerful fire indeed to have finished sso quickly…" the lime-scaled consort surmised. "It should happen within the next few minutess, I would imagine."

Aumanil, who was still at the Faithful's side, gave a quiet hiss of impatience. "Will you finally tell me what the Underground'ss grand plan iss, then?" The Northerners had grown restless, and the Unagwe clan chief was obviously no exception. Just because he was able to restrain his warriors did not mean that he himself had no desire to charge the fort.

"Aumanil, old friend, I will not need to tell you what the Underground'ss planss were; I can only show you," the lime-scaled cobra assured the Unagwe clan chief. "The ssignal to attack will be arriving momentarily. It iss the result of the planss we have laid. And you will not miss it—that would be quite impossible."

Off to the north, I could spot a few faint tendrils of smoke curling up over the broad arc of Mount Lonesome's western shoulder. Though they were faint at first, they quickly grew in strength and opacity, until a solid pillar of smoke was gushing into the sky. Obviously there was a shit-ton of smoke built up in the burning cavern.

Any time now…

It started with a dull rumbling sound. It sounded like it was coming out of the earth itself…which in a way, it was. Then the rumbling gave way to louder and sharper noises than sounded much more like cracking stone. I watched very closely, able to see little patches ground falling away and disappearing, as if plucked away into a void.

Then the walls of the Dersite fort itself cracked, sending a cascade of dust, rock fragments, and good-sized chunks of masonry and metal falling to the ground. I could see the Dersite guards milling about in alarm, unsure of what was going on. If any of them decided then that it would be a good idea to get the hell off the walls…then they decided too late.

I watched wide-eyed as the front gates and majority of the western wall of the Dersite fort came crashing spectacularly down as the ground underneath it literally opened up like a gaping maw. The Dersite guards unfortunate enough to be stationed on that part of the walls could be seen briefly, flailing about as they were hurled through the air, before they vanished into the dusty, smoky haze wafting up from the cavern below.

"_Forward, Northernerss!_" Aumanil thundered, after Achcauhtli gave him a nod. "_Come with me and take back our mountain! Drive the Dark Ones out of our home!_" That got a roar of approval. "_Out of our landss!_" That got a bigger roar. "_And out of our very livess!_"

That got one of the biggest roaring vocalizations of fury and affirmation that I've heard in my life. And with that, the gathered force of warriors from the High Council Fire surged forward, flying across the earth the way sidewinders do. I personally wouldn't have wanted to be one of the Dersite guards there. Standing on the ruined remnant of a wall, watching a horde of giant, incredibly pissed-off Notherner cobras thundering towards you… I'd be shitting my little carapacian pants.

I ran with them—neither in front of nor behind the masses, but right in the middle of it. I was running a little bit faster than most of the consorts, though, so I was gradually pulling up towards the head of the advance. As we approached the damaged fort, I could see smaller forces of camouflaged consorts—warriors who must've hidden themselves by the fort's sides under cover of darkness last night—broke cover and made a beeline for the remaining walls of the fort. They bore climbing poles, similar to the ones I'd seen used by the Sand Dweller prisoners in the labor camp, during my trip through time with Anna. And while the Dersite guards were focused on the fact that part of their defenses had just inexplicably come tumbling down, these two flanking forces attacked the walls of the fort.

I ran as fast as I could. My fatigue had melted away as adrenaline began to course through my body. I was barely conscious of the hundreds of consorts all around me as I steadily pulled ahead into the front of the charging mass. I wasn't experiencing tunnel vision, or anything…but the only thing I had eyes for was the Dersite fort just several hundred yards further up the slope.

After the Dersites recovered from their initial shock, they started desperately trying to mount an impromptu defense. A couple surviving energy turrets were moved up from deeper within the fort, and Dersite reinforcements formed a firing line behind the cover of the mangled rubble of what had once been the fort's western wall.

Streaks of angry red light started to sear through the air, peppering the ground all around me. A tan-scaled cobra running alongside me went down, a still-smoking hole blown through his upper body and most of one of his neck hoods. As I kept running, the consort in front of me was struck directly in the face with a slug from one of the energy turrets—most of his head was obliterated, and the rest of his twitching corpse was thrown backwards. I had to leap into the air to avoid tripping on it, but I landed on my feet and kept on running.

The charging mass of consorts had assumed a bit of a rough wedge or arrowhead shape, with the center of the advance pulling ahead of the sides. And I quickly found myself in front of the very center of the advance. I was quite literally leading the charge, now…

That was appropriate, I guess. As I said before, I'm no leader; I am a blunt instrument. A weapon. Place me at the front of a charge, and I will fuck up anything you want me to. If Skaia had any plans to make me into a better leader, it obviously hadn't chosen today to do so.

Almost unconsciously, I focused on my Aspect and threw up a loose barrier about myself, deflecting any energy bolts that came too close to taking me down. And as I continued to run…in the back of my mind, I was suddenly able to see an image of a strange ladder, with each rung shining a vibrant color; save for the topmost three rungs, which were still dark. It was my echeladder, the record of my progression of skill with my Aspect.

But as I neared the Dersite fort, the third-last rung came blazing to life, shining a bright orange. I didn't have time to spot the name in the rung, but I _did_ feel a strange sensation as it came to life… I've never unlocked rungs of my echeladder before while I was in the middle of using my Aspect, so I never quite noticed the difference it made…but this time, I did.

I always climbed my echeladder whenever I completed integral parts of my quest on this planet, as well as whenever I gained a deeper understanding of my Aspect. And while I was charging toward a Dersite fort at the head of a horde of angry cobras from the North… I guess you could say that inspiration struck.

The Knight class and the Prince class, according to Gwen, were similar in many regards, but also fundamentally different. The Knight is a warrior class, whereas the Prince is a destroyer class—both classes are able to use their Aspects as a weapon…but I think there was a very subtle difference in the manner in which these two classes do so. A Prince conquers and brings destruction with or through his Aspect…but a Knight seems meant to use their power to defend.

And even though technically I was _attacking_ the Dersite fort… I started to use my Aspect—at least at this particular moment in time—not to try and take out the Dersite guards…but to _defend_ my consorts as they charged. And that was the proper way for a Knight to use his power, I realized. It didn't mean that I couldn't act like a Prince and wreak havoc wherever I went…but I was at my most powerful while _defending_ others.

Just like the ideal Knight. A warrior protecting his lord's people—or in this case, his _planet's_ people.

I took a deep breath and gave my loose energy field as much juice as I could spare without passing out from the effort. My breathing became ragged and irregular, and the edges of my vision started to darken…but my protective field gradually spread further and further out, until it protected the vast majority of the charging consorts from the Dersites' weaponsfire.

The consorts took this in stride. If they were surprised by the sudden shimming veil of amber light that now shined in the air in front of them, deflecting the red bolts of energy that came into contact with it, they simply stuffed that surprise into a dusty corner of their minds and continued to focus on attacking their Dersite oppressors.

My protective field turned out to be vital to the success of this assault. I could recall reading of a battle that happened during the latter years of the American Civil War called the Battle of the Crater. It happened during the Siege of Petersburg; after several unsuccessful attempts to drive Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia out of Petersburg, the Union army devised a plan to end the siege. They would dig a tunnel under the Confederate lines, load it up with explosives, and blow the Southerners to kingdom come.

The plan was only successful at the very beginning. The tunnel was dug, the explosives detonated, the Southern line in that sector virtually destroyed…but the gap in the Southern lines created by the explosion was a giant crater. The Union Army sent unit after unit into that crater to breach the enemy lines, but the advance was disorganized, and the northern soldiers were unable to climb out of it. Then the Confederates were able to rally and mount an impromptu defense at the lip of the crater, firing indiscriminately into the massed Union troops, eventually even managing to bring some of their artillery into the fray. And when those northern soldiers tried to retreat…they were unable to, because _more_ Union army units were charging into the crater _behind_ them.

The Battle of the Crater was a disaster for the North, and described by the Union commander, General Ulysses S. Grant, as the '_saddest affair I have witnessed in the war._' It was one of the most horrifying real-life examples of 'fish in a barrel' I could think of.

And it nearly happened here, too.

The collapsing of the cavern had created an uneven crater of sorts, which we'd have to charge down into and make our way up the far side. I'm not so sure the Northerners, or even the Underground, had foreseen this… I mean, they had no idea what the American Civil War was; and when I saw them fight, I got the feeling that they did not use complicated tactics in battle very often. It was simple strategy to devise a method for bringing down the fort's defenses, but I don't think any of the Northerners actually thought too much about the potential consequences of that plan.

I wasn't surprised when, as we charged into that crater, I spotted the Dersite reinforcements waiting for us at the lip of the other side of the crater, within their ruined walls. Some of them had even managed to pile up sandbags in front of their turret emplacements. I could feel my strength ebbing away as I deflected the barrage of weaponsfire that started to rain down on us.

The ground here, to make matters worse, was quite terrible. When the cavern collapsed, everything on top of it had kind of fallen down and _inwards_…resulting in a nightmarishly treacherous patch of ruined terrain. The consorts were agile, and they were able to easily navigate the rocks and pitfalls, but it cost them time.

Like the Union soldiers who charged into the crater outside Petersburg, the cohesion and momentum of the charge was lost in the crater as the Northerners struggled to reach the other end of the crater. But the difference was that those unfortunate Union soldiers didn't have a Knight of Force with them. These consorts did.

My vision was growing blurry and my head was beginning to throb, but I kept my protective field going strong. The consorts had to reach the other end of the crater; that was all that mattered. If I could at least get them in safely, the battle could be won.

My body slowed down, and I could no longer run. I limped and staggered through the rocks until I couldn't move anymore. I knew I was about to collapse, but before I did I was able to find a large boulder jutting up out of the ground, angled towards the other end of the fort. I fell onto it and pulled myself to the top so I could still see the charging Northerners.

The first of the consorts reached the other end of the crater, and those who had to scale the rocks to get to the top at the steeper portions began to do so. Others, who were able to find easier ways to the Dersite lines, began to engage their enemies in combat. I wanted to release the protective field, but I couldn't yet…sure some consorts had reached the Dersite lines, but all of the Dersite energy turrets were still in play. If I removed my energy field, the consorts currently in the crater would be slaughtered, then the ones who'd made it to the Dersite lines would be mopped up in nothing flat.

I tried to count to thirty to keep myself focused, but I could never make it past seven. I started to feel really dizzy, and then a wet feeling on my upper lip. I raised a hand to wipe my nose. It came away bloody.

My vision started to blur, and I had to really focus to be able to see ahead. Consorts were streaming around both sides of my boulder, pressing on to join the attack. As I watched, the first of the consorts who'd been scaling the rocks reached the top…and I witnessed firsthand the fury of the Northerners being vented on the Dersites. The guards manning the energy turrets were torn to pieces—snapped necks or spines, heads torn from their necks, limbs twisted at impossible angles…or separated from their host bodies.

Then more consorts joined the fray, and they actually had time to draw their swords and knives, fighting with conventional weapons. As they left the protection of my field, some of them were taken down by the defending carapacians…but the Northerners had already established several footholds above the crater by then. They wouldn't be slaughtered.

I relinquished my hold over the Force Aspect, allowing the loose energy field to dissipate. The relief was immediate—my breathing and heart rate slowly stabilized, and my vision started returning to normal. But then I tried to get up…only to give up before I'd even put a fraction of my weight on my arms. They immediately gave out, and I ended up on my back, looking up into the rainclouds, listening to the sounds of battle behind me.

I'm not sure how long I lay there. Maybe an hour, maybe just a few minutes. Dunno. But after a short period of time, my view of the rainclouds was obstructed by the silhouette of a giant, muscular cobra. I turned my head so I could see him more clearly, instantly recognizing his violet scales and large, dark brown eyes.

"Come, little Knight," the violet-scaled giant said to me, the usual gruffness in his voice curiously absent. Could it be affection I detected? "Come and witness our victory." He lowered himself fully to the ground like an Earth snake. I felt an invisible grip gently close around my body, lifting me into the air and placing me down, holding me in place on Inuyyak's back. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him left himself back up into standing position.

Inuyyak carried me through the rest of the crater and up into the inside of the Dersite fort. The other walls had been taken, and a line of Dersite survivors was being pushed roughly out of the central tower by a group of consorts led by Aumanil. The corpses of dead carapacians—or at least, what was _left_ of them—were strewn all over the fort's inside. I could see countless places where the Dersites had tried to stage a last stand before being torn apart.

The central tower, evidently, was the last place to fall. I could see consorts howling their victory to the skies from the top of the tower, as well as the remaining walls. As the Dersite prisoners were lined up in front of the central tower, Aumanil and Onartuk—the navy-scaled chieftain of Clan Inuksuk—gathered a small group of warriors and arranged them behind the Dersite survivors. Those consorts raised their swords. I was obviously about to witness an execution.

But, for some reason, I didn't want them all to die. So I raised trembling hand and called out for Aumanil to stop…but no one heard me. My voice was too weak. "_Inuyyak…_" I whispered to the violet-scaled consort carrying me towards the tower. "_Inuyyak, make them stop…_"

"_HOLD!_" Inuyyak roared at the top of his lungs. His gravelly, booming voice actually echoed off the walls, reaching to every corner of the fort. "The Knight wishess you to hold, clan chiefss!"

Aumanil and Onartuk whipped around, spotting me on Inuyyak's back. All the other consorts, who'd been too busy celebrating or watching the execution to notice my arrival, saw me as well and murmured amongst themselves. "We have waited for centuriess, Knight," the Inuksuk clan chief hissed to me. "Do not deny uss the deathss of these vermin."

"Hear the Knight before you argue, brother," Aumanil said to his fellow clan chief.

By then, Inuyyak had reached the central tower, standing next to Aumanil so I could be heard.

There were fifteen Dersites lined up waiting for execution. All of them sported a variety of wounds. I then pointed to a Dersite who'd lost an eye and a hand, and then to another who'd lost an entire arm. "Those two…" I took a deep breath, making sure I was speaking loudly enough to be heard. "Take those two out of the line. Kill the rest. Then let me speak to everyone."

Aumanil and Onartuk glanced at each other, but thankfully they did not argue. Under their orders, their senior warriors removed the two Dersites I'd pointed at from the line. The executioners raised their swords, placing them above the backs of the Dersites' necks, waiting for the order. And when Aumanil gave them a nod, as one the senior warriors plunged their blades down into the Dersites' torsos, sending them convulsing to the ground, choking on their own blood until they finally lay still.

Then, as promised, Aumanil raised his voice and demanded silence so that I could speak.

I was surprised—at once, every single consort immediately fell quiet. Maybe they knew that I'd been the one responsible for the protective energy field that had kept the crater from becoming their grave. At my request, Inuyyak grabbed me gently in his Vis and lifted me high into the air so that I could be heard by everyone.

Summoning the last of my strength, I began to speak.

"I, uh… The fight's taken a lot outta me, so I can't really stand on my own, but…uh…" I swallowed, took a deep breath. "I haven't been here all that long, in the grand scheme of things…but, uh… But I know you all have been waiting for me for a really long time, and I just wanted to…um… Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this…"

There was a silence for a beat, then somewhere one of the consorts shouted, "_Knight!_" Then another consort shouted it, and another, then another… Before long, all of the warriors were chanting my title, like we were at some sort of 'Defeat Hyperion' pep rally.

Invigorated by the show of support, I continued once the chanting quieted down. "You all think I'm the one who's supposed to come in and save everyone from the Denizen. You think I'm the one who will lead you to victory, but… Well, that's just not true. I couldn't have done this by myself! Don't you see? Without you, I never would have learned how to use my Aspect, my Vis. I never would have learned what it means to be a Knight. I never would have learned _anything_ about my purpose here! I am not leading you to victory, nor are you leading me to victory…we can't afford to think so linearly. No… I am a part of this struggle now, and I say we're leading each _other_ to victory! Today, we're _all_ Knights!"

That got an even bigger response from the warriors than Aumanil's pre-battle morale lifter. I guess this was just my inner performer coming back to the surface…but that wasn't entirely accurate, because I wasn't performing. I vehemently believed every word I was saying. Is that performing? Or is it just…_doing_.

I paused as my voice gave out, and I broke down into a fit of painful coughing. Inuyyak started to lower me, but I shook my head, stopping him. I wasn't done yet. "Everyone has proven something today. Let no one say that you Northerners lost your souls or your fire after the defeat of the Bear! Today you reclaim your rightful place as the masters of this land!"

That got another roaring response. Okay, I didn't want this to drag out… Time to bring it home.

"But!" I shouted, my voice beginning to run ragged. I waited for the warriors to quiet down. "But we aren't done, yet! The Northern Fires are free, but there is still a shadow over this world. We may have defeated the last of his dogs here, but in his palace in the Old One's Garden, Hyperion's waiting for us! He's waiting for us to have the balls to directly challenge him!" I declared. The warriors drew in a collective breath, murmuring amongst themselves once again. Invoking the name of the Denizen wasn't something that was done very often. "So gather the clans, gather all the warriors the North has to offer, and come with me to the Forbidden River! And as for you…" I turned my attention to the two Dersite prisoners I'd ordered to be spared. "You two are free to go. Run, now. Run back to the Old One's Garden. Run and tell Hyperion that together—Northerner, Treefolk, and Sand Dweller—we will make your conquest of this world to be your biggest regret! The Knight's here, motherfuckers, and I'm just getting started!"

The two Dersite guards gave each other a sidelong glance. Then, after looking back at all the angry consorts who surrounded them…they wisely chose to abscond, fleeing the fort through the crater.

As all of the warriors started to resume the celebrations, Inuyyak lowered me back to the ground. Warriors crowded in to get a good look at me, touching me gently on the arms and face with their Vis. I guess if I were in their shoes—or scales—I'd want to get a good look at a figure of mythology, too. But it quickly got kind of claustrophobic.

I was too tired to speak, anymore. I tried to hold up my hands, to get the consorts to give me some space… I was burnt out, and all I wanted was a quiet room to go and quietly die in for a little while…

One of the last things I remembered was a red-scaled consort slithering out of the crowd, planting himself in between me and the crowding warriors, getting them to back off. Then he picked me up with his Vis and started to carry me away.

Scales… I tried to talk to him, but I could feel myself starting to lose consciousness before I could say anything.

Then I passed out.


	40. IV Chapter 40: Elusive King

Chapter Forty: Elusive King

Today was our third day in the Badlands.

Yesterday had been pretty uneventful, considering what'd been happening this past week. After the abominations had attacked us at the ruins of that Dersite base—which I later learned had been one of the old Behemoth production facilities—we slept until morning. Or, at least, most of us slept…

The Prospitian soldiers slept like babies. Some of the newest recruits, however, couldn't fall asleep, but most of the Prospitians had been fighting for many years; and while I'm sure they were rattled on some level, they wouldn't let it get in the way of their sleep. Getting rest, while in the middle of a war, was paramount. And then there was Theo, who was a freak of nature who didn't need to sleep—and by that, I simply mean he was a Thane of Breath.

It kinda made me curious about the Thane class. Each Class seemed to have certain attributes of its own, independent of the Aspect; like how Knights can take horrifying wounds and still keep fighting, or how Seers have some form of clairvoyance. Thanes seemed to be able to draw nourishment from their Aspect as one of its attributes—as long as Theo had access to Breath…air, really… His very being was attuned to the wind, so it seemed that the simple act of breathing could somehow sustain him. He still ate and drank when he could, but he did not need to. And he no longer slept because he no longer got tired.

Seeing as he no longer had a dream self—as a god tier player, his original body would have died and been subsequently replaced by his dream self—that didn't matter quite so much anymore. I'd never learned how Theo had died… All I knew was that he'd been assassinated somehow, and Gino mindjacking my dream self somehow played a role in saving my best friend's life. But I guess there'll be more time to talk about that kind of shit later. We had important stuff happening right now that required all my attention.

Last night, we'd stopped the column and made camp out in the open, in the middle of a flat wasteland that had once been some kind of giant field or plain. That way, if we were attacked by abominations a second time, we'd be able to see the bastards coming from miles away. Fortunately, they didn't attack a second time.

I woke up as my dream self right where I'd fallen asleep—in the back seat of one of the jeeps, nestled between crates of power cells for the soldiers' energy rifles. A couple of the younger Prospitians had gathered along one side of the jeep to get a good look at me, whispering to one another. When they saw my eyes open, though, they were out of here faster than the speed of sound.

The camp was abuzz with activity. I could smell coffee and the smoky aroma of the soldiers' morning cooking fires. I wondered where they'd gotten the wood to make those fires…scavenged from the ruins of the Dersite base, perhaps? I'd described the Badlands as having a faint smell of smoke, but it was an acrid smoke; a dark, tainted odor. The smoke from the Prospitians' fires had the comforting, almost sweet scent that you found around most campfires in the woods.

I yawned and stretched, sitting up. I let myself levitate a few feet, floating clear of the jeep and lighting back on my feet. I took a moment to get my bearings, easing out the kinks and cramps, before zeroing in on one of the nearest cooking fires. I knew many of the soldiers there, and I liked joining them for breakfast when I could.

"…protein squares, protein squares, and…_more_ protein squares!" Three-Shot, the shortest carapacian at the fire, was rummaging through his squad's rations bag, announcing to his comrades what all there was to eat. Apparently, protein squares seemed to have a monopoly on the menu this morning.

The other soldiers around the fire groaned and muttered darkly to themselves and to each other. "I swear to Skaia I will not complain the next time we get the fish rations," a taller, lanky Prospitian with some sort of long-ranged rifle resting across his lap grumbled. His name was Dud—he'd been named that because, sometime in the past, an artillery shell had landed in his foxhole, but it hadn't gone off. "Anything would be better than those damned protein squares…"

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Dud?" Firehands, the burly, heavily-muscled light machinegunner, rounded on his comrade. "I would never touch that fish crap that Supply stuck us with last decade! Every time I had it, I wouldn't shit for a week."

"What if you were offered the King's Scepter or the Queen's Ring for a day?" Dud asked. "Wouldja eat fish rations then?"

Firehands had to think about it for a few seconds before giving his answer. "A week. _Each,_" he declared. "First a week with the Scepter, then another one with the Ring. And throw in a night with the Queen herself. _Then_ I'll eat another fish ration."

I chose that moment to make my entrance. "Morning, boys," I nodded to everyone in greeting, taking a place around the cooking fire when Firehands and Three-Shot shimmied over to create a space.

"_Knight,_" the rest of the soldiers all murmured in greeting. I was making a lot of progress. Many more of the soldiers were speaking to me without clamming up than before. I guess they were gradually starting to realize that I wasn't some sort of primal, mystical force of nature—I was just a teenager. A teenager with the ability to manipulate energy, sure…but still a teenager!

Dud was the one with the coffeepot. He leaned over the fire and sniffed the coffee. I wasn't sure if sniffing coffee could determine whether or not it was done, but the carapacian seemed to be able to manage just fine. "That's ready," the sharpshooter confirmed. "Cups!"

The Prospitian soldiers all retrieved their tin mugs from their mess kits, holding them out to the fire. One by one, Dud filled them all. Firehands tossed me an extra mug, so I was able to have some too. I blew on it for a couple minutes, watching almost in awe as some of the Prospitians simply started sipping it while it was still scalding hot.

"Anyone seen Theo, lately?" I asked while I waited for my coffee to cool down. Usually my best friend was around to greet me when I woke up, but I hadn't seen him yet. I glanced around, seeing the blank looks on everyone's faces. _Crap_. "Sorry, anyone seen the _Thane,_ lately?"

I always forgot that the inhabitants of the incipisphere didn't know us by our first names. Our titles were our names to them.

"The Thane's been up with the Marshal all night," Firehands replied. "Discussing plans for the attack today, I'd assume. Our early start yesterday shaved off an entire day's march; we will be out of the Badlands by late morning."

"And I hope we never have to go back in," I murmured, still shuddering at the memories of those mutated, radioactive zombies that were all that remained of the Dersites unlucky enough to survive the nuclear bombing that took place here, while suffering from prolonged radiation exposure over the decades and centuries. "I'm surprised we haven't met any resistance along the way. Any resistance from the Black King, that is."

"He must not know of our presence, here," Firehands surmised. "Sending an attack force through the Badlands is a laughable notion at best…it's never been done, and the Black King would not be expecting it."

"Or maybe he _does_ know we're here…" Three-Shot brought up the opposite possibility. "Maybe he's got enough strength lined up at the Black Keep that he doesn't need to harass us. He'll just stomp us to jelly when we poke our heads up."

That ushered in a brief silence over the campfire, unbroken until Firehands gave a loud guffaw. "You're just as good at being optimistic as you are at hitting moving targets…"

We didn't talk about anything important. No earth-shattering revelations, thought-provoking discoveries, or anything like that. Just a bunch of soldiers enjoying their coffee before a day of marching…and a potential siege later this afternoon, or tomorrow at the very latest.

The order to break camp was given shortly afterward. Cooking fires were stamped out, coffee quickly finished if there was any left, tents and bedrolls stowed away. The soldiers all reported to their officers, who got them into the formation. The column quickly began reassembling itself.

Unsurprisingly, I found Theo in the mobile command post. The inside of the MCP smelled like tobacco smoke; the Scarred Marshal had his small wooden pipe hanging out of his mouth as he pored with Theo over a detailed map of the area where the Black Keep is located.

"…and until the Rangers are able to provide verification for these maps, we would be wise to consider them outdated and unreliable," the Scarred Marshal was saying to Theo when I walked into the room. "Ah, Knight. Glad you decided to join us, this morning. Did you enjoy your coffee?"

I was no stranger to passive aggression. "Yeah, it was pretty great. Some of the soldiers sure can make a mean cup of joe."

"Well, do make sure your caffeine rush and subsequent crash does not affect your performance in the upcoming siege," the Scarred Marshal suggested, not even looking away from his map. "I would very much like for you to take a role in the battle that comprises of something more helpful than yawning."

Theo pulled me out of the MCP before I even got the chance to reply. "Okay, man, no more pissing off the Marshal today. We're gonna be attacking the Black Keep by evening—trust me, you don't want to fuck with him right now."

Within fifteen minutes, the vehicles were firing up their engines, and the column was on the move once more. Like before, I walked at the head of the column alongside Theo. Yesterday, Theo had been busy with the Marshal—again, planning shit for today, I could only assume—so I hadn't seen him all that much. I hadn't really gotten the chance to start telling him about what was happening on the Land of Rain and Rivers until now; he was curious to know how my consorts' revolution in the North had gone.

"…and so, after we got the Northerner dudes to start getting their shit together and meet everyone else at the Forbidden River, an elder took Scales and me to a return node, and-"

"Wait, a what?" Theo frowned, giving me a sidelong glance.

"A return node," I repeated myself. "You know, the small gates scattered all over your planet that bring you back to your house?"

"Oh yeah!" Theo's eyes lit up as the appropriate memories returned to him. "Forgot about those things…never really got around to using 'em."

"So anyway, I go back to my house, which actually isn't located all that far away from the Forbidden River, and Scales comes with me so he can rejoin his people faster. And that's where I am right now…sleeping in my own bed… And let me tell you, after a month of sleeping around, under, or _in_ trees…there really isn't anything like sleeping in your own bed."

"So, when are you gonna attack your Denizen, then?" Theo asked.

I could only shrug. "Two days, maybe? The Northerners move fast—they've been waiting for a long time. The first of them are probably even arriving at the Forbidden River now. There'll be a council of war tomorrow to discuss formal plans for the attack, then the day after we'll be marching into the Old One's Garden."

"I wish Gwen would answer me when I message her—what you're doing on your planet would fascinate her," my friend said to me.

I arched an eyebrow to that. "Why?"

"Because what you're doing…it's a whole different way of winning this game," Theo explained to me. "Traditionally, you're supposed to focus on building up your house and traveling to some of the other worlds, too, through the seven gates. I actually passed through your planet for a few minutes. The point is that by the time you reach your seventh gate, you'll be ready to face your Denizen, but you… Instead of doing all that, you just went and rallied all your consorts, and are now taking the fight straight to your Denizen. This isn't how the game is supposed to be played…but Skaia seems to be allowing it. Maybe it's more like an alternate method for us to face our Denizens, only harder? Like a higher difficulty setting?"

"Dunno." I shrugged. "I haven't really been putting much thought into it. I just kinda assumed that's how I was supposed to do shit on my planet. It's not like my Sprite was helping me, or anything…"

"You think you should call him?" Theo's next question was, and it caught me a little off-guard. When Theo could see that I wasn't sure what he was asking, he went on to clarify. "Your Sprite. Don't you think you should summon him for your battle? He'd be a massive help."

"I'd rather roll around in nuclear waste…" I muttered. My Sprite tried to kill me soon after he was created. Yeah, he'd come back to help me get to my first gate afterwards, but he'd made it clear that he didn't want anything to do with me after that. Even if I wanted his help, there was no chance in hell he'd ever give it. "How would I even contact him? He's been with Cass this whole time, and she hasn't exactly been answering calls lately."

"Just use the pendant he gave you," Theo explained. "Its primary function is to summon your Sprite—he's bound to it."

Oh, yeah… The amber and red pendant that my Sprite had given me. I'd found it around my neck after I woke up in the main village of Clan Nathair—I'd been barely conscious when my Sprite had given it to me, so I didn't really remember what all he'd said about it. Probably something along the same lines as what Theo told me, unless he was really trying to fuck me over.

We continued to march well into the morning, traversing several more stretches of open waste, broken by the occasional patch of hills or mountains. The Rangers had barely slept; they were constantly out there in the wastes, working in tightly-rotating shifts, plotting out the best possible route through the radiation for us to take. Luck would have it that our route would actually deposit us on the western boundaries of the Badlands just four miles south of the Black Keep.

I'm not sure how the day/night cycle worked here, on the Battlefield—it is located in the center of Skaia, which is _itself_ the surrogate 'sun' of everything else in the incipisphere. You'd think it'd be daytime _all_ the time… But that wasn't the case. Of course, it's also far from the strangest thing I've seen here. Here in the Badlands, though…it was almost like a state of constant night. The light of Skaia was unable to penetrate the thick veil of storm clouds that hung low over this region of the Battlefield. So it was hard to tell when the day actually started.

Still, judging by how long we'd been marching, it would be safe to assume that it was getting towards midmorning, late morning by the time we spotted the ruins of more mountains in the distance. According to some of the Rangers I'd spoken to over the past couple days, those destroyed mountains had once been the Solemn Peaks, forming the western border of the Badlands. Now, of course, they were nothing but a cracked, ravaged labyrinth of hazardous terrain.

"Hear anything about Gino, yet?" I asked Theo.

My friend's expression morphed to one of surprise. "Is that genuine concern that I detect?" For once, I couldn't really tell if he was mocking me or if he was being serious. He was definitely getting better at being deadpan, regardless.

I couldn't help but scowl. "Maybe I just want to know if anyone's found his body," I muttered. But there really wasn't any heart in the biting retort… Truth be told, I _was_ kinda concerned. No, I didn't like the guy…but I liked the fact that he'd vanished even _less_. I hoped nothing bad had happened to him. Yeah, he was an arrogant douchenozzle a lot of the time, but he wasn't a bad person…

"And we still haven't heard from Gwen, either, obviously…" I added. Gwen, on the other hand, I didn't feel any need to hide my concern for. Of the eight of us, I'd say I probably knew her the least. I knew that, like Gino, she'd been popular and played lacrosse in her high school, and she'd excelled at math…and _boy,_ could she sing. I knew her from community theatre over the summer, where I'd been introduced to her and Tami by Cruz, and we'd done several shows together since.

She was a nice girl, and I especially didn't want anything bad to have happened to her…

"Nope, nothing…" Theo grumbled. If he had any ideas of what may have happened to either of them, he didn't share. Instead, he changed tack. "At least Tami still keeps in touch…"

"Not Cruz?"

"You haven't heard?" This time, Theo didn't sound so surprised that I was out of the loop on current events. He was learning fast. "Tami told me Cruz has been fighting with the Prospitian Navy for a while, now. Influenced a lot by _you,_ actually; he started working with the White Admiral not long after you left to come here."

"That so?" My curiosity had been sparked. I found the image of Cruz fighting in a naval battle a difficult one to visualize. Maybe if Jack Sparrow smoked pot instead of drinking rum… I mean, it wasn't that I didn't think Cruz could do it, but… I've known him since I was little—our dream selves grew up on Prospit together—and it was hard to imagine Cruz doing _anything_ action-related. "What's he been up to with the Navy?"

Theo gave another shrug. "We don't get much news of the Navy down here; the Skaian clouds wreak havoc with radio signals. Only thing Tami really mentioned was some sort of mission Cruz went on—he said he needed to get to the Veil, took a single ship, and didn't come back for a week. I've been meaning to ask him what he was up to, but he hasn't been online."

I felt a twinge of dissatisfaction. I guess I was realizing just how isolated I'd been this entire time. The only time I've ever seen any of my friends was when I was dreaming, for cryin' out loud… Gino and Gwen could be dead, for all I know…

Theo and I fell back into silence as the column reached the mountains we'd spotted a while back. We had to travel north for a short while—twenty, thirty minutes—until we happened upon a narrow valley that seemed to wind its way through to the western side of the remains of the mountain range.

Our progress was slowed a little when we entered the valley—there were giant rocks and…well, pieces of mountains, for lack of a better description, littered all throughout the natural corridor. Lengths had to be taken to circumnavigate some of the more cluttered portions of the valley. It got kinda annoying at times, sure, but it was still preferable to taking a week-long detour to find an alternate route around the mountains.

It wasn't long before we found ourselves marching through a dense gray fog, little eddies of wind agitating the misty vapor that hung in the air all around us. The slopes of the ruined mountains rose up on both sides of us, shadowy walls of a misty corridor, preventing us from straying where the corridor did not lead. We wound our way through the valley until the mountains fell away and the fog started to thin.

Gradually, as I was able to see the ground, the charred wastes gave way to the bare, black-and-white chessboard pattern of the earth of the Battlefield. Earth that hadn't been ravaged by a nuclear hammerdown. First there was earth, and then there was grass. Then we emerged from the fog and into the daylight, as if someone had just fast-forwarded time by twelve hours from night to afternoon.

We were out of the Badlands. There was no celebration to be had, though. As soon as we emerged from the wastelands, the column was promptly turned to the north, and we continued to march. I think we were also moving slightly to the west at the same time, because the Solemn Peaks gradually started moving further and further away, until all we could see of the Badlands now was a gray line of fog sitting beneath a front of black clouds.

The Scarred Marshal emerged from the MCP after the first two kilometers. He must have been communicating with the Rangers, because another two of the Pale Marksman's operatives appeared and met with the veteran division commander straightaway. They gave the Marshal a quick report before hurrying off and vanishing into the hills that dominated this region. As for the Marshal… I couldn't really tell what his reaction to the report was. He seemed surprised, angry…as well as in a state of disbelief.

He did not order us to stop the advance, however. Quite the contrary, he didn't give us _any_ new orders, merely retiring to the MCP in silence. I'd heard that when we emerged from the Badlands, the Black Keep would be located just four kilometers to the north. Well, we'd already gone half that distance, so we didn't have very far to go. But even as we completed our third kilometer and started drawing near to the Black Keep, we didn't stop to reform into battle formations, which was highly unusual.

Eventually we finished our fourth kilometer and emerged from the hills onto an open plain…an open plain that also happened to have a massive castle made of some sort of black stone sitting in the middle. We had arrived at the Black Keep. Dersite banners waved and flapped in the wind from their mounts on the Black Keep's outer walls, its citadel, and its towers. Fixed energy turret and anti-armor emplacements lined the outer walls, as well. And even though the stone of the castle was black, it still managed to catch the light, almost making it sparkle in the late afternoon daylight.

There were massive, towering outer walls, with gates built into several points of the defenses. Smaller buildings had been built inside the walls to house the Dersites who lived there, as well as the places that kept the Keep running—its armory, its mess hall, its weapons factories, etc. etc. But in the center of everything was a giant, towering citadel with four smaller turrets built into all four sides, each facing a different direction, each made of a different color stone.

Apprehension began to creep its way into my gut. My Roman Lightbowie waited within my sylladex, itching to be summoned, and I found I would start unconsciously creating small flames around my fists when I let my mind wander too much. I waited as we marched towards the Black Keep for the Dersite monarch to emerge, towering over everyone and everything else with the power of his scepter, ready to stomp us all underfoot.

And even _then,_ the Scarred Marshal did not order us into battle formations. The soldiers were murmuring again, voicing their unease with the situation.

But we were quickly able to notice that the Black Keep, the personal fort of the King of Derse and commander of the entire enemy army, was missing one fundamental thing… _Dersites_. There were no Dersites to be seen. No behemoths, no commandoes, no regular soldiers, no guards, no sentries…nothing. Nothing and no one.

The answer to why the Scarred Marshal hadn't bothered to order us into battle formations was quite clear, and it was also confirmed when we literally walked up to and through the gates—which were already open—without any resistance. The Black Keep was empty.

It had been abandoned.

I was one of the first ones through the Black Keep's front gates. I walked slowly, mouth hanging slightly open as I took in the sight of the empty castle. The only life here was a family of rabbits that promptly hopped away into the shadows of one of the buildings when they saw us coming, and the twenty or so Prospitian Rangers who'd been attached to our column.

The Rangers' commanding officer, the Pale Marksman, was conferring with two of her senior operatives on the steps in front of the entrance to the Black Keep's citadel when we made our entrance. As the Prospitian soldiers fanned out and started searching the grounds and buildings for any Dersite stragglers, the Scarred Marshal left his MCP and made his way across the greens towards us.

"Hey PM, what the fuck?" I called over to the female Ranger as Theo and I walked up onto the steps with her, referring to her by the informal nickname used by some of her subordinates. "Where is everyone?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Knight," the Marksman replied.

By then, the Scarred Marshal had caught up to us. He was wearing an eyepatch, today, covering the empty socket that had once contained his left eye. It made him look pretty badass, actually; he should really consider wearing it all the time, rather than just during battles. "I take it you have nothing new to report?" the division commander grunted, coming up to our step, glancing up at the eerily silent citadel that towered above us.

The Pale Marksman shook her head. "Negative on that," she said. "I sent some of my scouts out while you boys were still getting out of the Badlands, but we found nothing. The surrounding regions are empty, too. No telling exactly how long they've been gone, but I would wager a guess at…four days, perhaps more."

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes when the Scarred Marshal scowled. This guy was a master at finding new reasons to get angry as fuck. "C'mon, Marshal, lighten up! We made it through the Badlands and we took the Black Keep; we've accomplished our mission-"

"_Foolish boy_…" The Scarred Marshal rounded on me, almost baring his pointed teeth. "We did not take this Keep, we simply strolled in! What you do not understand is that since the beginning, the Black King has always concentrated his largest, most powerful forces _here,_ around this very castle. The entire surrounding region was once _swarming_ with Dersite commandoes!"

"And now, no one is here," Theo quickly caught on to why the Marshal was distressed. This left enough enemy troops unaccounted for to make any sense of comfort I'd been feeling completely get blown away. "So if the Black King and his core forces aren't here…then where did they go?"


	41. IV Chapter 41: Waking Up

Chapter Forty-One: Waking Up

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror as the steam from the shower cleared away. When was the last time I'd been able to do that?

I couldn't remember.

My hair was still short, but was also starting to become unruly. My sideburns were also starting to get a little scraggly, so I grabbed my trimmer from one of the drawers and cleaned them up a bit. While I trimmed, I frowned slightly as I looked at my bare chin; I was more than content with my sideburns, but I'd never been able to grow any other facial hair. Not yet, at least... Not that it really mattered, or anything, anymore; there were only seven other people in existence right now who could appreciate my beard, even if I _could_ grow one. And besides, any facial hair I tried to grow would never hold a candle to Theo's. My best friend could rock a beard and mustache much better than I would ever be able to.

My chest, back, and stomach were crisscrossed with a pattern of thin white lines—battle scars from all my frequent, often violent strife sessions with my Sis. It was normal for kids to strife with their parents, but most guardians didn't try to actually _hurt_ their kids. My Sis, on the other hand, rarely held back with her knives, and I had all the healed injuries on display to prove it. My arms bore marks from the claws of imps who had managed to swipe me. I could still see tiny bits of scar tissue on my neck, left over from when a Dersite Agent tried to garrote me in my sleep. Then there was the healed laceration on the side of my face, where I'd nearly been skewered by my Sprite immediately after his creation.

And those were just the wounds I remembered._  
><em>

My body had been through hell. Almost like getting the crap beaten out of you several times…only spread out over a month.

I didn't look _bad,_ or anything…just tired. I could see it in my stance, in my face, and in my eyes. I was tired. Tired of constantly fighting in two separate wars at the same time, tired of spending each conscious moment trying to suppress thoughts of home, tired of being a pawn to Skaia's master plans, tired of agonizing over Cass…

I needed a break. But that was exactly what I wasn't gonna get.

I looked away from the mirror, toweled myself off. I left the bathroom and walked down the hallway to my bedroom. I grabbed some fresh clothes and threw them on—oh man, I've missed wearing a shirt that hasn't been torn to ribbons, clean socks…and I won't even talk about having fresh boxers. There were no words.

After I got dressed, I headed out onto the balcony, staring down at the landscape below. Last time I'd looked out at my planet like this, I'd just arrived here after having stomped on a cruxite wineglass, having barely escaped the meteor that was about to obliterate my house. It was also the last time I'd seen my Sis before _she_ vanished, too... I watched the sky rivers flowing through and among the clouds in their curved, mind-boggling patterns, the rainclouds that glowed with their soft purple light, the rolling hills down below, with the northeastern eaves of the Knightswood just barely visible in the distance.

And straight ahead, towards the horizon, the cluster of peaks that towered over all their surroundings. The Knight's Mountains. The Old One's Garden was the smallest of this world's three great forests, growing around and on the lower slopes of the Knight's Mountains. And winding its way into the distance towards the far-off peaks was the only river on this planet that flowed across the earth; the Forbidden River, fed by eight sky rivers that emptied into a giant lake. It was near that lake where I'd had to climb that ladder made of swords to convince the Treefolk that I was the Knight.

Man, that felt like a freakin' eternity ago...

There was going to be a council of war today, and I'd better get moving if I didn't want to miss it—the leadership of the Northern Fires had just arrived at the Forbidden River during the night, along with the bulk of their forces. Being the largest of the three clans, the Northerners had the largest fighting force by far. The area around the headwaters of the Forbidden River was bursting with consorts from all three tribes, making for an unprecedented sight since the time of the Old One. Usually, when members of all three tribes were present in such numbers, there was bloodshed.

I focused on my Aspect and levitated myself into the air. I glanced back at my home, taking one last good look at it, not sure when I'd be able to see it again…if ever.

Then I flew off, making my way towards the giant lake in the near distance.

Using my Aspect to fly had gotten easier. I wasn't losing control and veering off all over the place anymore, like I always used to. Flying through use of the Force Aspect wasn't quite as smooth as the natural flight ability of my dream self, but still…it was a work in progress.

I couldn't help but smile as I soared through the sky, breathing in the sweet scent of rainfall, relishing the feel of the cool breeze against my face. My Aspect continued to unconsciously deflect the raindrops that were in my path; when I flew, there were always a few raindrops that got past my Aspect, but not many. I was able to fly without getting very wet.

More Northerners were arriving when the consorts' giant camp came into view. I could see the stocky, thick-hooded cobras making their way down from the taller hills and ridges to the northeast, probably hailing from one of the more isolated Northerner clans. Set up along both shores of the Forbidden River was one of the most bizarre conglomerations of temporary dwellings I've ever seen—tents and cloth canopies of many different shapes, sizes, and colors…as well as Treefolk teepees. Lifebeasts roamed the edges of the camps and grazed from the grass on the surrounding hills—I think the consorts were using them as pack animals, but they obviously didn't have to keep the buffalo penned up, or anything, which struck me as equal parts unusual and awesome. Almost like having a horse whom you didn't have to secure every time you stopped for a rest.

The leadership of the combined forces seemed to have set up shop right near a familiar site, right in the centre of the massive encampment—a small peninsula of land formed by a curve in the Forbidden River. Close to the river bank were parallel wooden poles that jutted over a hundred feet up into the air, with metal blades connecting them to each other, creating a macabre sort of ladder. The Knight's Ladder, to be precise...and _my_ ladder, to be technical.

Seeing the sword ladder again reminded me just how much I _didn't_ miss it.

It was around midday, early afternoon when I arrived at the Forbidden River. I was greeted by cheers and loud exclamations as the consorts saw me arriving. I didn't really give much reaction—no dumb waving, no bows, no nods, no acknowledgments; I wasn't here to be a mascot or a celebrity, I was here to kill a Denizen. I couldn't afford to not take this seriously. And besides, I've never liked being the center of attention. I landed not far from the Knight's Ladder, almost instantly finding myself among familiar faces. A council fire was being built near the Knight's Ladder by a small group of Northerners, under Inuyyak's supervision.

Sleeping under a simple yellow canopy was Matlal, the ancient priest from the heart of the Desert Fires. He must've been a lot stronger than he looked to have traveled all the way here from Aztlán. As I neared his tent, he opened a single milky blue eye and watched me walk past before closing it again. I saw familiar faces from Clan Unagwe—the elder K'eyush, Tlanextic the Faithful... I saw Aiyana walking alongside Aumanil, the Unagwe clan chief. I'd been surprised to learn after the liberation of the High Council Fire that Aumanil was actually Aiyana's father. No, in case you were wondering, that didn't mean Aiyana was going to be the next clan chief—the position of clan chief was not a hereditary one; that, at least, was something all three of the tribes had in common.

Off on the opposite shore of the Forbidden River, I spotted a large group of young warriors drilling for battle, practicing with their Vis, their swords, and sometimes even with their bodies—unarmed combat. They were being led by an incredibly loud, foul-tempered, middle-aged Sand Dweller with white scales. Xolotl was certainly keeping himself busy… I hoped he was doing okay. I'd never gotten the chance to find out how he was doing after Anna brought us back to the present; I had to travel to the North and he'd agreed to rally the seven Sand Dweller clans, so we ended up going our separate ways almost immediately.

But I headed straight into one of the larger teepees near the Knight's Ladder. The front of the teepee was pulled open, partially exposing the interior. Glimmering Scales sat coiled up, feasting on a bowl of soup. And sitting opposite to Scales was his father, the maroon-scaled chieftain of Clan Nathair.

Burning Dusk smiled warmly as he saw me enter his teepee. "Welcome back, Knight." When he spoke, Scales twisted around. When the red-scaled cobra saw me, he actually came close to smiling, but he stopped himself and settled for a slight nod. That was Scales for you; he probably thought that _showing_ he was happy to see me would cause him to spontaneously combust.

Scales and Dusk both rose and accompanied me back outside. Burning Dusk took in a deep breath through his nostrils, tasting the air with his tongue several times. The maroon-scaled clan chief gave a contented hum as he looked out at the massive camp that surrounded us. "Your mission to rally the other tribess wass obvioussly met with ssome ssuccess," he remarked.

"Yeah, well, I had some good help along the way," I replied, looking at Scales. "Kinda…kinda hard to believe we're actually doing this. I mean, I know everything's been working towards taking down Hyperion, but…"

"But now it iss no longer a disstant goal," Burning Dusk finished for me. "The thingss we fear alwayss sseem to ssneak up on uss like that."

I cleared my throat quietly, wandering with the two Treefolk towards the river bank. "You guys scared?"

That got a snort from Glimmering Scales. "Of coursse we are afraid," the red-scaled cobra grunted. "We would be foolss not to be."

"Having fear and facing it iss a greater sstrength than being immune to it," Burning Dusk said. He then frowned and gave a low grunt of his own—now I could see where Scales' trademark grunt came from. "Lissten to me… I'm already beginning to sspeak like an elder! I think I will go and sspar with that white-sscaled Sand Dweller, remind mysself that I'm not keeling over from old age jusst yet!"

"Wait, when's the war council gonna meet?" I asked.

"Tonight," Dusk answered. "In the darkness, when the council fire burnss brightesst. I will ssee you then. And Knight…" The clan chief turned back to me as he started to slither away, opting to give me some parting words. "It really iss good to have you back. You have lived up to the Old One'ss legacy and united the three tribess. Not only did you give uss back our hope…you alsso gave uss a future. You gave uss back our fire, our Vis. Thank you for that. And whether the battle ahead goess for or againsst uss…every persson on thiss world knowss what you have done for uss, and we will not ssoon forget it."

And with that, Burning Scales left us. Thankfully, he left before I could give him an answer…and I was thankful for that because I had no fucking clue what to say. I'd actually been really moved by what he'd said to me, and I wasn't so good with words when I got emotional.

I took in a few deep breaths and turned my attention back to Scales. "C'mon, dude. Let's go spar for a bit."

* * *

><p><em>Wake up! Wake the fuck up!<em>

My head snapped forward for the umpteenth time, jolting me back awake, but luckily enough no one had noticed yet.

I was in the middle of the war council that was occurring between the leaders of the three tribes. Arguments concerning who would be leading and coordinating the attack, as well as the best way to go about attacking Hyperion's palace, were being thrown left and right. The Northerners seemed to want to devise a method to topple the walls of Hyperion's Palace, the Treefolk wanted a small group of warriors to infiltrate the place and open the gates from the inside, and the Northerners seemed to favor a simple direct assault. Turns out that while my consorts are a brave, wise, intelligent people…they really kinda sucked at planning a battle, unless they've been really working at it for a few years. Their form of warfare has always been in the form of clan feuds, or clashes between entire tribes in the worst cases.

Large-scale battles, sieges, however… I mean, the civilization of these cobra people seemed to be heavily influenced by elements of Native American society, and Native Americans aren't exactly renowned for their skill at siege warfare. They didn't seem to be able to completely wrap their minds around the idea that the defenders of the Denizen's palace would not be fighting fair.

Still, though. There really wasn't much for me to say or do. Ultimately, I was even _less_ qualified, I feel, to take a leadership role in the attack on the palace. I'm not a strategist or a tactician. I'm an eighteen-year-old theatre kid with the unusual ability to manipulate energy. Cool beans. But I was still a teenager, and I didn't know the first thing about how to fuck up Hyperion's shit.

Well, maybe that's not quite true. I guess I'd be able to handle Hyperion when I encountered him, though my confidence in winning such an encounter was shaky at best…the problem was just _getting_ to him. The fucking palace stood in our way. Hordes of underlings, Dersite soldiers armed with energy rifles… This was going to get bloody.

It had already been decided that I would lead the first wave. Of course, by 'lead' I actually mean something along the lines of being one of the first ones to storm the wall. Climbing poles had been constructed the day before—we would be using them in the first wave. Crossing the distance between where the trees of the Old One's Garden fell away and Hyperion's Wall would be difficult, but I believed the consorts would be able to defend themselves easily with their Vis. And I would be able to lighten the burden a little bit with my protective energy field, though I wouldn't be able to sustain it without draining myself of energy. And I couldn't fight Hyperion while I was unconscious, now, could I?

It was the Dersites that had me kind of nervous. They weren't supposed to be here. And I wasn't sure how, even with their numbers, my consorts would be able to hold up against something like those Dersite energy weapons. I also knew that I was going to find out, anyway. Maybe. I mean, to find something like that out, this fucking war council shindig would have to come to an end, and it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon.

My head fell forward and I stopped myself from nodding off yet again. I don't know what was up with me—I feel fine all day; get showered, come to the Forbidden River, spar with Scales, eat some dinner, wait for nightfall, go to the war council... Then suddenly, maybe five or seven minutes ago, I begin to feel extremely drowsy. I would start to hear the sound of distant shouting, almost as if I were hearing someone while underwater. Someone shouting for me to wake up. Then I would realize that my eyes were closed and I had dozed off, so I'd catch myself quickly before I fell all the way asleep.

No matter how hard I tried to stay awake, though, I couldn't get that damn shouting out of my head. My sleepiness was just getting worse and worse, until it got to the point where I couldn't even keep my head upright, anymore. I finally decided to give in, leaned over to Burning Dusk, whispered, "Hey, I'm gonna go grab some shuteye—I'm all burnt out."

"A Knight needss his resst," the chieftain of Clan Nathair nodded in agreement, speaking quietly so as not to be overhead by anyone else. "You will be ssent for when the council iss concluded."

I got the feeling that Burning Dusk would have liked nothing more than to have joined me. Unfortunately, it probably wouldn't have looked good for a clan chief to duck out of a war council to take a nap, so he was here to stay. Me? Not so much. The Knight of Force slept whenever the fuck he wanted to.

I slipped away from the council fire without anyone noticing, heading towards my teepee. I nearly lost consciousness twice before I made it there—whatever was making me fall asleep was getting even more persistent. I was constantly yawning, and I couldn't get the faint shouting out of my mind. I just wanted to pass out and make it all go away.

I pushed aside the entrance flap of my teepee, and the last thing I remember was the feeling of the fur blankets as I collapsed onto them, unable to continue standing up. I was out cold before my head even hit the ground.

* * *

><p><em>Wake the fuck up!<em>

_Wake up!_

The shouting slowly got louder and louder, until I realized that it wasn't in my head, anymore. Someone was actually _shouting_ at me.

"Cruz?" I cracked open my eyes, taking in the familiar sight of a green bedroom ceiling. Then I frowned. This wasn't right... The stones which made up my dream room were different, and the light of Skaia was shining in through the windows... I hadn't woken up in my dream turret on the Battlefield, or even _anywhere_ on the Battlefield. I was back on the golden moon of Prospit, in my dream tower. Cruz was hovering over my bed, a faint green aura about his body. Like me, he was wearing golden Prospit pajamas. He had a grip on both of my shoulders, which he had been using to jostle me awake. "Cruz, what…?"

"No time to explain right now, _amigo._" Cruz hauled me up out of bed, pulling me towards my window. "We gotta move!"

And with that, Cruz jumped out of my window, pulling me along behind him. I noticed for the first time that he was actually flying, as well. Ever since the death of his waking self, weeks ago, Cruz's consciousness had taken up permanent residence within the body of his dream self, resulting in the loss of his dream self's previous ability to fly. But that seemed to have changed.

Tami was waiting for us outside, also wearing her Prospit pajamas. What can I say—Prospit pajamas never got dirty, and they were really fucking comfortable! Tami was watching something far off in the distance, away from us, but she turned to face us as Cruz emerged from my room with me in tow. "Jesus, took you long enough," she grunted.

"Don't blame me,_ he's_ the one who was refusing to wake up," Cruz shot back in a rare display of annoyance. "Where's Anna?"

Tami shrugged. "I checked her tower, but she wasn't there. Didn't really expect to find her, though; she's been MIA this whole time."

"Cruz, you're…you're flying again?" I was still somewhat asleep and trying to process everything, to piece together what the fuck was going on.

"Yeah, bro," Cruz grinned. "Turns out I've always really known how to do my Sage thing—all that weed kept it repressed, though."

"So you're…_not_ high? Right now?"

"Sober as a kite."

"That makes zero sense, but still…wow," I shook my head slowly. Cruz was sober. Next thing I knew, I'd freakin' sprout wings and flutter up to Skaia. I think the world as we knew it had come to an end. Cruz was _sober_. Man, that'll never stop sounding weird… "How… How am I back on Prospit? I've been dreaming on the Battlefield with Theo ever since I left!"

"Dunno, man," Cruz shrugged. "Dream selves are kinda finicky that way. You wake up wherever Skaia needs you to be."

"Okay, this is all very interesting, and I hate to be a bitch here, but can we get a fucking move on?" Tami interrupted, gesturing for us to follow her. The three of us soared up into the sky of the golden moon. As we traveled higher into the sky, I looked up at Prospit for the first time…and was shocked to see many parts of it in flames.

"What the hell happened here?" I asked, feeling slightly numbed by the sight.

"_Derse_ happened here, bro," Tami replied, her tone somewhat aggressive, as if she thought I was supposed to magically _know_ this shit all of a sudden. Because I didn't. Magically knowing shit was more Gwen's department than mine. "No one thought they'd do it… I mean, we all knew the Dersites had broken the rules before, but no one thought they'd be _this_ bold…"

"The Navy's tied down in a major engagement over the Battlefield's south pole, and a Dersite invasion force managed to slip past us," Cruz explained quickly. "Streets were swarming with Dersites before the Royal Guard could repel them. Can't call in the Navy to deal with things here, either; a tactical retreat from the south pole would take too much time—the White Admiral can't just cut and run from the Dersite Navy over the south pole without losing half the fleet in the process."

"How could they have gotten past the radar?" I asked. "I mean, the Prospitian Army has advanced detection technology; shouldn't Prospit have it, too?"

"Prospit _does_ have a radar detection system," Cruz replied. "I dunno know why it didn't detect the Dersites, but that doesn't matter so much right now. All that matters is getting to Prospit."

I guess the gloves had really come off on this one. I'm a little slow on the uptake when I'm functioning as my dream self, but this was a pretty clear situation. Prospit, the home of our dream selves, defender of Skaia and our ally on the Battlefield, was under attack. It needed its Heroes.

"Is the White Queen alright?" I asked, suddenly finding myself very concerned for the safety of the wise, gentle Prospitian monarch. If Dersites were openly attacking Prospit, the Queen's throne room within the Golden Keep would have to be one of their main targets. I voiced these concerns, and was met with more gruffness from Tami.

"Why the fuck do you think we worked so hard to wake you up?" Tami asked me. "The Queen's in it pretty deep, and she's gonna need a lot of help. She needs her Knight. Hate to say this, bro, but you're the most powerful fighter here."

"Oh come on, we both know that's not true," I started to say, but Tami wouldn't let me finish.

"No, you _are,_" she insisted. "Me, I'm a Muse. I'm a creator, and Cruz… Well, who the fuck really knows what Sages can do, other than smoke a lot of cannabis and be generally nonviolent and useless. But you're a Knight. You were made for this. So come out to Prospit with us, bro, and be ready to fuck some Dersite shit up."

And so, we flew off into the void of space that separated Prospit from its moon, the massive golden chain being the only thing spanning that distance and connecting the city-planet and its moon. Dark and empty as outer space, the void was, and yet still somehow filled with air. As we left the golden moon far behind, Cruz instructed me and Tami to grab hold of him and never let go, 'no matter what'. When I felt my body disintegrate into atoms and molecules, I could still kind of imagine myself holding onto Cruz's arm, so—_fuck,_ I believe I'm taking this rather well, don't you think?

I mean, that was a very nice transition—calmly talking about Cruz's instructions before going on to describe how my body was fucking _broken the fuck down into goddamn fucking atoms holy shit what the fuck I don't even-_

I forced myself to remain calm, taking deep breaths in and out…in and out… I could still imagine myself grabbing Cruz's arm, so I just kept on doing that… I never let go, just like he told me. And after what felt like an agonizingly uncomfortable hour of disembodied flowing, I was suddenly flexing my free hand in front of my face, suddenly breathing in gulps of oxygen, feeding the lungs that I suddenly _had_ once again.

Tami shuddered, as if her skin were crawling. She let go of Cruz. "Does it really have to take you nearly two minutes?" she complained. "Because that felt fucking _disturbing_."

"I'm still trying to get the hang of it." Cruz could only shrug, his face bearing a reproachful expression. "Teleportation ain't easy, you know! It's hard enough to teleport _myself_ from Point A to Point B, forget bringin' two other people. Could've turned out much worse, I believe, considering what would happen if a single atom was misplaced. But no, seriously, you don't need to stop thanking me for getting you to Prospit in less than two minutes."

"My, you're a snarky Sage when you're sober," Tami remarked, not fazed in the slightest by Cruz's uncharacteristic display of annoyance.

"Heh… _Snarky Sage_…" was my contribution to the conversation.

"Sorry," Cruz clutched a hand to his temple, his brow wrinkling as if he were dealing with a headache. "Sorry, just having trouble adjusting to the whole 'sober' thing, aight? Bein' high as _muerto_ was all the time so much better than havin' all this 'Spacey' shit swirlin' around in my head."

We descended from the sky, down into the hazy, smoky mess that Prospit's golden streets had become. Dead Prospitians littered the streets—most of the poor guys hadn't stood a chance. The Royal Guard couldn't be everywhere at once. We landed not far from the Grand Boulevard—the wide, bustling road that ran from the planetside anchor of Prospit's giant golden chain, all the way to the Queen's throne room just near the Prospitian quartet of prototyping towers. Right now, we were on one of the smaller streets branching off from the Grand Boulevard. There seemed to be fighting going on all over Prospit, but the heaviest conflict appeared to be raging on the boulevard.

There were a few Dersite commandos in the process of sweeping the street we landed on, and they all gave shouts of surprise and alarm when they spotted us. I took a deep breath, focused on my Aspect, and handled them by slamming them into the walls of nearby buildings. I don't know if that just knocked them out or killed them—either way, they weren't getting back up for a while.

Tami arched an eyebrow as she watched me in action. "Not bad," she grunted. I'd known Tami Abramov long enough to recognize high praise when I heard it.

We made our way off the street and back onto the Grand Boulevard. I'd been expecting to find Dersite troops here, trying to assault the Prospitian defenses...but instead, we encountered the exact opposite. Oddly enough, the _Prospitians_ were the ones who were fighting their way down the boulevard towards the Golden Keep. There were tall, heavily armed carapacians clad in silver armor keeping the whole Prospitian advance together. They were members of the Royal Guard, and they were fierce in combat; even more so now, with the knowledge that their Queen was likely in danger.

They were not alone, however. Fighting alongside the Royal Guards were dozens, perhaps a couple hundred Prospitian civilians. I explained before that every Prospitian must serve out their Birth Campaign before they are allowed to live on Prospit; all the civilians fighting alongside the Royal Guards had been soldiers long before they were civilians. All they needed to do was find weapons—some of them used the M1 Garand-esque energy rifles that were in use by the Prospitian Army, while others seemed to have picked up superior Dersite weapons. Even though I knew these guys and girls had all been soldiers in the past, it was still strange to see people—even carapacians—mounting a cohesive, organized assault while dressed in civilian attire.

The air was hot and stuffy, and it stank of energy discharge; an odor with a sour tang, not unlike ozone. The smell of smoke also hung heavy and thick over the Grand Boulevard, courtesy of the hundreds of fires that had been inadvertently set during the fighting. The road itself was also looking a little worse for wear. The perfectly fitted and arranged yellow-white cobblestones had been blown to pieces in many places, leaving craters of varying size and depth. Most of them could easily be stepped over, some were big enough to be used as makeshift foxholes...but there were a couple massive ones, too; craters created by explosions that took out an entire chunk of the road, usually along with several of the buildings lining it.

There was also a lot of debris strewn all over the place. Many buildings and towers had been destroyed, or were still going up in flames, and there were pieces of them cluttering up the road, too, along with everything else.

Basically, Prospit was a fucking hellhole right now, in case you haven't yet caught my drift.

Bolts of energy were searing through the air from all directions, adding to the chaos. As we emerged onto the boulevard, though, I noted that the fighting seemed to have subsided somewhat. There was still plenty of firepower raining down on the Prospitians, but the snow-skinned carapacians were hunkering down. I heard them calling to us, hollering alarmed warnings at us. They seemed to want us to follow their example.

A second later, I saw the reason why. Well, I _heard_ it before I saw it, but the sound was very recognizable. I screamed, "_Get down! EVERYONE GET DOWN!_" I was already tackling Cruz—whose reaction time was a bit slower than Tami's—to the ground when the formation of Dersite bombers swooped down across the Grand Boulevard.

Jesus, the Dersite commandos had _air support_, too? Could this day get any worse?

If we'd still been standing, the explosions would have knocked us off our feet. Of course, if we'd been standing we probably would have gotten our heads taken off by all the flying stone. I realized that I'd been lying down on the ground with my eyes closed this whole time, sorely tempted to curl up into the fetal position. I opened my eyes and found that I was having trouble hearing. All I could really hear was a faint ringing noise, with other, more subdued sounds going off in the background.

I picked myself up off the ground, brushing the dust and rubble off my bloodstained Prospit pajamas. Cruz was lying over to my right, also in the process of regaining his balance and climbing back up to his feet. Tami, however, was leaning up against the ruins of a nearby wall, blood dripping from a head wound, bone protruding from her upper arm.

Cruz and I crawled over towards Tami, but she rebuffed our attempts to help her. Instead, she took a deep breath and worked on straightening out her arm, gingerly pushing the protruding bone back into the limb. A bright, cyan-colored energy began to glow about her, and her wounds slowly began to heal themselves. Her head wound closed up, and the bleeding there stopped. The bones of her shattered arm popped back into place and were fused back into their proper positions. It appeared to be a rather painful process, judging from the faces and gasps Tami was making, but either she had a very high tolerance for pain, or she'd just learned how to ignore it. Either way, when she was done, she hopped back up to her feet, ready for more.

Not that I didn't respect Tami before this—out of the many people I'd known, Tami was one of the ones I respected the most—but I couldn't help but look at her with a new sense of admiration. I don't think she's ever looked or acted any more badass in her life than she did in that moment.

"C'mon, we have to move!" she said, jumping up into the air and shooting up towards the rooftops. She obviously wasn't stopping to make sure we were behind her, so Cruz and I just went ahead and followed her up into the sky. "The Dersites must've taken the Queen by surprise!"

I could see when I rose up high enough that Tami must have been right. The Golden Keep's walls had been breached, and its garrison appeared to be fighting a losing battle against the invading Dersite commandos. The Royal Guard-spearheaded advance down the Grand Boulevard was probably moving forward only due to the fact that the Dersites were focusing most of their energy on moving forward themselves, not fighting off the Prospitian nuisance behind them. There would be time enough for that when the Golden Keep was taken and the White Queen killed. The bulk of the Prospitian forces seemed to have been caught outside the Golden Keep when the invasion happened, desperately rallying to the Royal Guard and trying to break through the Dersite-held territory so they could relieve the beleaguered defenders of the Keep.

I wondered if the White Guardian was fighting on the Grand Boulevard, somewhere. He was the Captain of the Royal Guard, after all, and even though he operated from the Golden Moon...if his Queen were in danger, which she _was,_ I couldn't imagine he would be sitting idly by on the moon, watching the Dersites wreak havoc. I hoped we'd run into him before we reached the Golden Keep; he'd be a great help in the fight.

The Prospitians on the Grand Boulevard were making progress against the Dersite commandos, but it wasn't enough. The advance was too slow to be of any help to the Queen; by the time they reached the Golden Keep, the battle would already be over and the Dersites would have won a tactical and strategic victory by taking out the White Queen and dealing a blow to the heart of their enemy. So bearing this in mind, Cruz, Tami, and I decided to take matters into our own hands. We could do something to reach the Golden Keep that the Prospitians couldn't. We could fly.

The three of us all soared forward towards the Golden Keep as fast as we could, cruising over rooftops and towers, as well as the areas of wreckage and ruins. Once, I accidentally flew through a pillar of smoke, filling my nose and throat with the acrid taste and smell, nearly choking as a result. We flew over the palace's toppled walls and lighted atop the Golden Keep's central tower, located above and just behind the throne room proper. As we clambered inside through one of the windows, we could hear the sounds of fighting echoing up from the halls below. In fact, I think we got inside just in time to hear the entrance doors of the Golden Keep caving in; despite having breached the Keep's walls, the Dersites had only just gained entrance to the palace. That meant we still had a tiny bit of time left.

A sliver of a chance. Not much, but still more than nothing.

The top of this tower contained a large, arboretum-like room; filled with trees and other kinds of plantlife. We found a transportalizer pad that took us down to a lower room, though, making our lives just that much simpler. This room that we'd teleported into was the room that contained the very top of the big staircase that would take us down to the throne room'd entrance corridor. The three of us began to hurry down that staircase, down at least three stories of golden corridors, until we staggered out into the smokey, dust-filled main hallway that ran from the entrance of the Golden Keep to the throne room. The stair dumped us out about halfway down the hall—the fighting had already passed us by.

I could see a trio of Prospitian royal guards doing their best to fight off the advancing Dersites. Their dead comrades littered the hallway before them, but these three were still making a last, desperate stand. Before we could help them, however, they were each suddenly and brutally taken down and killed by a hunched, angry-looking, knife-wielding Dersite who was leading the attack. Shit, and I thought _I_ was good with knives...this guy could probably give Sis a run for her money.

Cruz sucked in a breath through his teeth, recognizing the dark-shelled carapacian leader. "That's the Dersite Archagent," he said, pulling Tami and me back, apprehension in his eyes. "Basically the Black Queen's right-hand man. Nasty little _cabron,_ he's the one who killed my waking body."

"And now he's gonna kill the White Queen if we don't intervene," I threw off Cruz's grip and strode back into the hallway, making for the throne room. "There are three of us this time, Cruz, and we've all learned a lot since he killed you the first time. Plus, we'll have the Queen herself on our side, too. No one's dying today."

There were a ton of Dersite commandos flooding the hallway from the broken-down entrance, as well as from the smaller corridors off to the side. They all knew that the Dersite Archagent had reached the doors to the throne room, and they were massing to overwhelm the White Queen's defenders in one fell swoop. Energy rifles could be heard going off as the last pockets of Prospitian resistance in the Golden Keep were able to reengage the withdrawing Dersites.

We took our time. Moving at a hurried pace would've been impossible, anyway. While I had some difficulty using my Aspect during my waking hours, my dream self had no trouble at all with it. I could summon giant, focused jets of flame at will, disintegrating any Dersite unfortunate enough to cross my path. The Dersites who evaded my fire, however, ultimately fell victim to my alchemized Roman Lightbowie, which I used to finish off any of the commandos who made it past my fire at extreme close range. It wasn't long before I started to get blood and ash all over me.

It's just as well that dream selves are free-spirited, almost empty-minded people. If they were more like real people, they would be killing machines. I was almost unsettled by how eerily _easy_ it felt as I cut through dozens of Dersite commandos with my fire, melting their dark carapacian shells with concentrated bursts and jets of flame, focused by my Aspect, sustained by it as well. Melting through carapace is a ridiculously easy task for blasts of concentrated fire, so l was able to keep them up even as my kill count began to climb over thirty.

Cruz had been scattering the atoms of any Dersite that accosted him. He would teleport the atoms of a Dersite in all directions—the unfortunate carapacian would be visible for an instant as a mist before his atoms scattered into oblivion, destroying any trace of his existence. And Tami had been wreaking her own havoc with her saber of cyan light—pure Life energy. But both of them ended up taking pause to watch me in action.

Muses and Sages were both very powerful classes, but they had their own, unique purposes. I was a Knight, though. A warrior class. A weapon and a blunt instrument. Right now, I was doing what I did best. Fucking shit up.

We ended up in a wedge—me at the front, with Tami and Cruz on my wings. I sliced our way forward, and my two fellow Prospit dreamers would take care of anything trying to take me out from behind. It seemed like it was taking forever, but in reality we were fighting our way down the hallway for less than two minutes. Finally, with several last surges of strength, we swept away the resistance in front of us and burst into the throne room.

As we made our way through the shattered throne room doors, we watched as the White Guardian strode forward to intercept the charging Dersite commandos, flanked on both sides by his elite guards, longsword glinting in his hand. The elite guards were sorely outnumbered by the Dersites, and they weren't even using energy rifles—they were fighting with swords. They calmly moved to meet the oncoming commandos. And then they started to completely massacre the Dersites. They were almost impossible to follow with your eyes; constantly weaving around the Dersites, killing them with lightning-fast strikes. Many of the commandos were actually killed not by the elite guards, but rather on accident at the hands of their own comrades. A Dersite would take a shot at a Royal Guard, but then the Prospitian suddenly would have yanked another commando over into the path of the energy bolt.

The White Queen was fighting off commandos in front of her throne, taking on the Dersites who'd managed to bypass the White Guardian and his men, and boy she looked _terrifying_. She was wearing her ring, so elements from all of our pre-entry kernelsprite protoypings were shown in her body. The drill-hand from Theo's sprite, the wings from _my_ sprite, the fire breath from Cass's, the smell of pizza from Gino's, and all the others. Unlike the White King, though, the Queen's protoypings did not make her humongous. She was certainly a bit taller than her normal height while wearing her ring, but she definitely didn't become ludicrous-sized like the White King did when he wielded his scepter.

The Dersite Archagent ended up going straight for the White Guardian, gripping his knife and preparing to sink it somewhere painful and fatal. The tall, silver-armored Prospitian easily sidestepped the Dersite Archagent's opening thrust, however, flicking his wrist and bringing his longsword whipping around and swinging up in a tight arc, right into the Archagent's neck, instantly and seamlessly beheading him. The Archagent's headless body stood there for a moment, as if it were somehow unable to comprehend what had just happened, before it sagged forward and crumpled to the floor, a steadily-widening pool of blood spreading out from underneath it.

It had all been kinda anticlimactic, really. I'd been expecting some sort of epic, long, drawn-out showdown between the Archagent and the White Guardian, but then the tall Prospitian just finishes Jack off like that without even breaking a sweat. Just sayin'. I guess I was kinda relieved that I didn't have to help fight the Archagent. That could have gotten painful. And after all the fighting I've been participating in these past few days... I _liked_ anticlimactic. Anticlimactic was good. I found myself wishing that it would happen more often.

The remainder of the Dersite commandos were finally finished off by the elite Prospitian guards. When the last Dersite fell, the Prospitians began to police the bodies, making sure they were all dead. If any of the Dersites were still alive, however faintly, the Prospitian guards remedied that with a final deathblow, usually through the survivor's heart. Four of the elite guards ducked into the hallway to secure the entrance—there were still many more Dersites outside the Golden Keep; we'd just annihilated the forerunners, not the entire invasion force—but the rest remained behind with the White Guardian. The White Queen raised her normal hand—not the drill one—in greeting to her three Heroes. "It gladdens me to see you fighting alongside my people," she said to us.

I nodded to the White Queen, glad to see her safe, when suddenly...I found that I couldn't move. I was stuck in the air, unable to move forward or backward. Grunts of surprise from Cruz and Tami meant that they were experiencing something similar. It was a new sensation for them, but for me… It was something I'd felt countless times.

We were all being held in the grip of a Vis. Someone was using the Force Aspect, and it sure as hell wasn't me.

The White Guardian straightened up, tightening the dark ring he'd recovered from the Dersite Archagent's body onto his ring finger. The sight of that ring sent a cascade of memories shooting through my mind. I'd seen that ring before... It was being worn by the Hegemonic Brute, one of the Dersite Agents, when he'd infiltrated my dream room on the Golden Moon in an attempt to murder my dream self. He'd very nearly succeeded, too, thanks to that ring. The White Queen had called it a 'dark ring', and while she hadn't explained what exactly it was made of or how it worked, she had confirmed to me that carapacians were able to use it to turn a Hero's own power against them. The Hegemonic Brute had nearly killed me with my own Aspect.

And so, while Cruz and Tami started swearing and trying to figure out what was going on, I was silent. I couldn't really believe what was happening...but logic told me that there was no other explanation for what was going on.

The White Queen was similarly incapacitated, frozen in place near the two thrones where she'd been fighting. She inhaled deeply, her eyes flaring and widening in anger as she realized her predicament. Her wrist strained to bring her eight-orbed ring up to a higher height, but was prevented from doing so by the invisible grip on her entire body. She was just as trapped as we were.

"_Traitor…_" the White Queen hissed, anger clearly evident in her voice as she glared at the White Guardian. The elite guards had all returned, and they spread out to cover the entire room. Two of them ended up grabbing me, one of them forcing my hands behind my back and the other grabbing hold of my hair. I was still unable to move, though; the Force Aspect still held me in its grasp. When I tried to focus on my Aspect, though, it was like I was running headfirst into a brick wall. Maybe it was because I couldn't focus, maybe the dark ring was suppressing my ability to access my Vis... I dunno. But I wasn't able to do a goddamn thing.

"_You're_ the traitor," the White Guardian shot back, calmly sheathing his sword and reaching down to the ground, picking up the Dersite Archagent's knife. "I disobeyed protocol once, several millenia ago. I went outside during an Eclipse. I understand now why you made it forbidden to even look outside while an Eclipse is happening—if the people were ever to see what I saw... Unfortunately, I was only able to convince a few members of my Royal Guard to watch an Eclipse with me after that; everyone else still abides by the Rules, as laughable as that notion sounds, and they refused to join me. But, as it turns out, a few good Prospitian Royal Guards was more than enough, and I ensured that they would be inside the Golden Keep with you and me when the invasion began. What we saw... The future Skaia showed us... I saw in the clouds of Skaia what you have obviously known your entire life. And yet despite having this knowledge, you would still continue to fight for Skaia? Skaia, which we have fought for and bled over for millenia? Skaia, which dooms us to defeat at the hands of the Dersite scum? You are taking us down a path that leads to ruin! I've seen what will happen on the Battlefield. I've seen the White Keep. I've seen what happens to your husband the King. I've seen the Prince-"

"This incipisphere must fulfill its purpose!" the White Queen insisted, cutting the Guardian off mid-sentence. I could tell that the White Guardian's claims had deeply wounded her; she knew exactly what he was talking about, but had to keep it secret. She'd even told me outright once that she'd accepted that the fulfillment of Skaia's destiny would claim the life of her husband; a secret she'd kept for ages, possibly even from the White King himself. I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain she must feel. The Queen swallowed painfully and took a moment to regain her composure, speaking now in a calmer tone. "This incipisphere must fulfill its purpose," she repeated. "Skaia chooses what to show us and what _not_ to show us. Do not pretend to understand it. Please... Guardian, I beg you. Stop this madness. You cannot interfere."

"What, and do _we_ get no say in the matter?" the White Guardian shot right back. "We're just as alive, just as sentient as the Heroes—why should _our_ welfare not matter? No, my Queen, _you_ are the only one who needs to stop the madness. But we both know that you will not, and so _you_ must now be stopped. I refuse to follow Skaia's precious grand plans and schemes. I refuse to continue to defend the entity that demands our destruction. And so, I take measures today to ensure that Skaia never fulfills its destiny."

And with that, I was forced down onto my knees, and the elite guard holding my hair wrenched my head back, exposing my throat. The White Guardian stepped up to me, raising the dark knife that the Dersite Archagent had been using. Fear gripped me, then, and I struggled, trying with all my might to break free, but it was useless. "Please," I whispered. "Please don't do this..." The White Guardian met my gaze for a moment; I didn't see hatred or malice, or anything like that... I think I just saw determination in there. And a hollowness, too... A jaded, cynical hollowness caused by the knowledge of what the future held for Prospit, and the fiery determination to prevent the destruction of his home his own way of trying to fill that emptiness. I saw now that the White Guardian was now little more than a broken shell of a man.

Then he raised the Archagent's knife. I felt something cold press against my throat, and then the weirdest feeling…

The White Guardian wiped the Archagent's knife clean on my golden pajamas, adding yet another bloodstain to the already sullied shirt. Where had that new blood come from? Was that _my_ blood? He then released his hold over me, almost sending me sagging to the floor, held up only by the two elite guards. I was no longer held in the grip of a Vis, but that no longer mattered...

My body started convulsing, which got painful at times when it was the only the Prospitian guard's grip on my hair and arms holding me upright. Slowly, though, as I overcame the shock and understood just what had happened to me, I began to feel a thin line of pain across my throat. Pain that quickly exploded into pure agony.

There was screaming, too. I think Cruz and Tami were screaming. Screaming, swearing, and fighting.

My throat and chest were warm and wet. I knew now that it was indeed with my blood. My Prospit pajamas were more red than gold, at this point. No wonder Cruz and Tami were screaming.

I tried turning my head, but the tendons or muscles I needed to move my neck like that had been cut, and so it just caused the pain to burn even more. It became harder for me to breathe, but I hadn't died yet, for some reason.

I watched as the White Guardian continued to speak with the White Queen, nonchalantly walking up to Dream Tami and plunging the Archagent's knife into her stomach, giving it a secondary jerk upward, under the ribcage. Tami gasped, unable to form words, blood already beginning to flow from her mouth. With the last of her strength, I watched her lift her head and spit blood into the White Guardian's face, before sagging forward in the grip of the Prospitians holding her up. The White Guardian then pressed the point of the knife to Cruz's throat and thrust it forward, causing Cruz to give a choked cry that was immediately cut off by the metal obstructing his airway, his eyes bulging in pain.

It occurred to me that it was the second time that knife had killed Cruz, and in the exact same spot as last time.

Three new pools of blood were forming on the ground, and at the White Guardian's command the elite guards all dropped us, letting our bodies crumple to the floor. Tami was no longer breathing by the time we went down, and Cruz was still in his death throes, the Dersite Archagent's knife still impaled through his throat.

As for me, the pain in my neck was beginning to grow unbearable, but I was still alive, life still stubbornly clinging to me like some sort of disease… This was part of being a Knight, apparently—being able to sustain untold amounts of damage to the body, but still having the ability to keep on going. Right now, my fucking throat had been slit, and I was still watching everything that was going on, still processing everything, somehow managing to cope with the pain and the fact that I knew I was gonna die, even if it was taking a while.

My eyes welled up and I began to silently cry just a tiny bit as I watched Cruz finally lie still. My friends were dead, now. I'd just watched two of my closest friends get murdered right in front of me. I was all that was left. And soon I would be gone, too.

I watched the White Guardian approach the White Queen, still exchanging heated words with his monarch. I don't know what the Queen was saying to him, but it must have struck a nerve, because the Guardian started arguing with the Queen once again rather than just kill her on the spot. The Queen must have been goading him, because she finally said something that obviously angered the White Guardian enough to make his guard slip just a tad. The White Guardian seized the Queen by the neck out of anger, bringing the Archagent's knife thrusting towards her heart. That was when the Queen decided to strike. There was a flash of light from her hand. Eight bright, glowing orbs. A sudden explosion of deadly red, lightning-like energy, which impaled the White Guardian right through his chest.

Even as the White Guardian gasped for breath while his chest was melted away, the White Queen held up her hand, now free from the dying Guardian's Force grip, sprouting more super deadly red energy shit from her ring, taking out the rest of the elite guards in an equally gruesome fashion until she and I were the only living people left in the throne room, not counting the mortally wounded White Guardian. Now that there was no more immediate danger posed to her, the White Queen bent down and removed the dark ring from the White Guardian's finger, slipping it into one of her pockets. She then took up his longsword.

"No one escapes the Red Miles, Guardian; not even you. There are deeper forces at work, causal events culminating in something much more important than the war with Derse. But you refused to open your eyes and see them, to try and see past the war which we were created to fight in, to look _beyond_ our destiny...and so you were blinded," the White Queen whispered to her former subordinate. "This incipisphere _will_ fulfill its purpose. There _will_ be a Garden in the abyss because of the eight heroes. You began following the wrong path when you believed you had to impede any of this from happening. And so, you must be removed. I am sorry it has come to this…"

The White Guardian's only response was to spit blood into the Queen's face. Some of it may even have been Tami's blood from when she spat on _him_.

And with that, the White Queen removed the dying White Guardian's head with his own longsword, splattering the floor and walls with the tall Prospitian's blood. My vision was beginning to fade when the White Queen hurried over to my side. She removed her ring, returning to her normal form. I could feel her examining the wound in my throat, pressing some kind of cloth down to try and stem the blood flow. I shivered. My heart rate started to go through the roof and my guts felt like they were seizing up. I felt a great fear of death right then, in that moment, and I started to hyperventilate.

The White Queen placed a hand on my cheek and a finger over my mouth, speaking soft, soothing words to me.

That was when I spotted it. The dark, shadowy shape that had haunted me my entire life. The Phantom stood behind the White Queen, watching me die. "_Time to wake up._"_  
><em>

"Help me," I begged the Queen, holding onto her arms with desperate, clawing hands as I found myself unable to continue breathing. "_Help me_…" I don't think I was even making any more noise, but I was still mouthing the words. I felt the White Queen take one of my hands in hers, felt her grip squeeze around my hand, felt her tears splashing onto my face.

The tears on the face felt good.

* * *

><p>I took a deep breath, purposefully striding forward towards where Cass was sitting. I reached the row she was occupying and slid into the seat behind her, giving her a bit of a start. "Oh, sorry…didn't mean to scare you, there," I said to her as I disrupted her concentration.<p>

"You didn't scare me," Cass replied, settling back into her seat.

"Sure, that was just a body-wide muscle spasm," I retorted, finally regaining my humor in time for a lighthearted laugh.

"It was the music that spasmed," Cass insisted, plucking the earbud from her ear, giving me her full attention. "You jumped in at the same time!"

"The music, yeah…" I didn't even try to hide my skepticism. Still, I found I had the urge to find out exactly what song she'd been jamming out to. "What were you listening to?"

"You probably wouldn't know it."

"Try me."

"Well, it's called _Synchrotone,_ from-"

"-from the Black Hawk Down soundtrack," I finished for her, my face swiftly splitting into one of the widest grins I've ever smiled. Holy shit. She…she listened to… "You…you listen to Hans Zimmer?"

"He's my biggest playlist on here," Cass waved her ipod, "because he happens to be a living god."

That's when I noticed something that was very weird, before I could give my response to one of the truest things Cass has ever said in her entire life. Cass was dressed in some sort of strange getup—thin, flowy, sleeveless black and purple robes, with a purple hood that could go over the head, but was currently hanging down around the shoulders. There was a spiral-like symbol emblazoned on her shirt—a circle with a dot in the center, with a curved line spiraling from the circle inward to the dot—and although it looked very familiar to me, I had no idea what it was supposed to represent.

How...? How the fuck had I not noticed those crazy robes until now? A second ago, I could've sworn she'd been wearing normal clothes… Did I accidentally eat shrooms, or something? Was I hallucinating? I blinked several times and rubbed my eyes...but there was no change. No doubt about it, those robes were real.

"Where'd you get those clothes, Party City?" I asked, pointing to her black and purple robes, deciding to take my delayed perception of them in stride. "Halloween isn't until October, in case you forgot!"

"You can see my god tier clothing?" she sounded surprised as she, too, looked down at what she was wearing. Her brow wrinkled slightly in a frown. "Oh, that's just weird; I thought you'd see me wearing exactly what I'd been wearing in this memory."

"Your what-now clothing?" I frowned at Cass, really starting to get confused. What was she trying to pull? "Memory? What?"

Cass was continuing her thought, ignoring my haphazard attempts to understand what she was talking about. "…but you're obviously instead seeing what I'm _actually_ wearing right now, my Sylph robes. You're beginning to see through the illusion. The fact that you've finally let me in after all the time I've spent trying to get inside here…"

"Let you in?"

"Into your dream bubble," Cass clarified, finally directly acknowledging my presence once again. "Sorry, didn't mean to confuse you. You see, I've been trying to access your dream bubble for a very long time—I can't really say exactly _how_ long, of course; time has no meaning in the Furthest Ring—but I've never been able to fully enter it like right now. But finally, this time you let me in, instead of reliving everything from the beginning again… I guess I should've accepted her help a long time ago…"

"Dream bubble? Am… Am I dreaming, right now?" A worm of a thought began to present itself to me, but I quickly crushed it before it could reach the light of day. If I was in a dream bubble, I was dreaming. End of story.

"No, you're not dreaming," Cass shook her head, her voice remaining firm and gentle at the same time. "I want to tell you a story. It's the story of a boy who is quite often overlooked by all the significant players in the game of the incipisphere where he was born…"

As Cass spoke, the giant projector screen at the very front of the auditorium hummed to life. It was stored in the ceiling, and it would cover the stage behind it when lowered all the way. I'd lowered it personally before first period this morning for the techies to begin prepping for the Invisible Children presentation, which was coming in a day or two. Now it began to show images.

I glanced over my shoulder at the tech booth, which was set into the very back of the auditorium. The window that the projector showed its shit through was closed…so how was the projector working? I looked back at the screen…and frowned. It was showing a bedroom that existed only in shades of green. And sleeping in a crib with Star Wars sheets was a black-haired baby boy wearing golden pajamas. He then woke with a start, his eyes flying open. They were red.

I was looking at myself, there was no doubt about it. But that wasn't my room… I'd never lived in a place like that.

As Cass continued to speak, the images shifted, showing me cities of shining, glittering gold. Towers and spires, castles and mansions. It was breathtaking.

_And familiar_.

Then the feed returned to the green room. The red-eyed baby boy was bigger now, maybe one or two years old. I watched as a female—well, the best way to describe her would simply be _alien_—as a female alien with a hard white carapace in the place of skin lifted the child out of his crib. The female alien was humanoid in shape; tall, slender, and she moved with a certain grace, almost as if she were constantly floating on the wind.

There was a subtle glow about her, as well, which you didn't really notice until you stared at her and realized that your eyes were beginning to water up. She had kind eyes that were black as midnight...as well as being the only place I could look directly at her without having my own eyes begin to hurt. She also wore a chain around her neck, a small golden ring dangling from the end. Curiously, there were eight small stones mounted on the outside of the ring, and I just had the weirdest feeling... I felt that those stones should be glowing. But they were dark.

_The White Queen_.

I frowned at the random thought that had just popped into my head. White Queen? Was I thinking about chess, or something? Maybe Queen Elizabeth? She's a queen, and she's also white, just sayin'... I couldn't think of any other explanation.

As I continued to watch, the tall, snow-skinned alien female cradled the black-haired child in her arms for a few seconds before holding his hands and lowering his feet down to the floor. She was speaking soothingly to him—I could pick up on that even though there was no sound coming from these strange images. The female alien coaxed the black-haired boy to keep putting one foot in front of the other; and when she let go, he would fall to the floor. Then she would smile, lift him back up, and simply repeat the process until finally...she let go of the little kid's hands, and he was able to take one step forward on his own, without any help... One step, then two...then three... Then back down onto the floor.

But it was still a victory. The female alien's smile widened, and she lifted the kid from the floor, put him back in his crib, started to tuck him in.

And all throughout this, Cass continued to speak.

"There were three others just like him—two girls, and another boy," Cass went on. "The two girls were sleeping, however, and would not wake for many years. The other boy had been awake since his day of birth—perks of being a Hero of Space. Our boy, however, had first woken up barely a day after his friend—woken by the stress he was feeling in his dreams. I understand that his waking counterpart's arrival on Earth was quite traumatic...traumatic enough to cause him to wake up in a city of gold. When he grew older and learned to fly, our kid eventually left his room and met the Space boy. Together, these two boys became close friends before they ever even knew each other in their waking lives, sharing many adventures together in the golden city planet where they lived."

My heartbeat began to race. How the fuck did she know about my dreams? I didn't tell _anyone_ about that shit. I tried to turn away from Cass. "Stop it," I said to her. "Stop!"

Cass held up a hand, and the images on the projector screen vanished. But she did not stop telling her story.

"One day, not long after the two girls finally woke up, the boy's home would come under attack," Cass continued to explain. "The life of his beloved Queen was in danger. The boy would try to defend the life of his Queen, but he was betrayed by the Queen's highest-ranking subordinate. The White Guardian, he was called, named for his duty in guarding the White Queen and the four Heroes of Prospit. Corrupted by knowledge he should never have gained. The White Guardian killed the boy. Slit his throat."

The Archagent's knife. A buried memory flared up. The Dersite Archagent's knife, which had been used to murder Tami and Cruz. Oh god, I hope it hadn't been painful for them… But that wasn't all. No, even before that… The Archagent's knife had been used to kill my dream self. His throat had been slit. I remembered it all, now, from my most recent dream on Prospit. The pain reaching an almost unbearable level as I lay there, unable to quickly die because I was a Knight. Then a point was reached when I didn't feel the pain anymore, and I guess I just drifted off and died there. No heartfelt speech, last requests, revelations...just an uneventful, quiet death on the floor of a throne room.

And so now, here I was in a dream bubble. I think I understood, now.

"Okay, so… My dream self died, and so that's why I'm in a dream bubble right now?" I asked. "Makes sense, I guess. I would've thought the death of my dream self would have woken me up, but I guess it didn't…so now I dream in the Furthest Ring."

"Well…technically you'd be right, except for one thing," Cass pointed out. "You aren't dreaming, right now. You're dead."

Uh…what? I blinked once, then twice. She was wrong. She had to be wrong—that was the only real way any of this could make sense. I wasn't dead; my _dream_ self was. That's why I was dreaming in a dream bubble that comprised of my own memories, not Prospit.

"I have been trying to enter this dream bubble for a long time," Cass went on when she saw I clearly didn't believe her. "All throughout your life, actually. Look closely at me; I must seem familiar."

I realized what Cass was hinting at. Somehow, she'd gone god-tier sometime in the future, and she'd ended up out in the Furthest Ring, outside my dream bubble, and had spent God knows how long trying to gain access. Even if she hadn't been able to get into my dream bubble, I could still feel the times she tried, the times she succeeded in merely brushing against my consciousness. I recognized Cass's voice, now, and the shape of her Sylph robes. It had always been Cass trying to contact me from the outside.

"The Phantom," I murmured. "It was always you…"

"I figured you'd felt the times I tried to get inside your memories." Cass nodded in agreement. "I hunted down your dream bubble, you understand. I've been looking for a very long time. And when I found you, my wait was still only just beginning."

"Cass, I don't understand… What's…?"

"You were firmly embedded in the reality that those memories you were reliving were your own," Cass went on. "So firmly embedded, in fact, that I couldn't get you out. You were dug into those memories like a deer tick. You know better than me how stubborn you can be. But there was always one small, tiny part of the back of your mind that remembered that everything was an illusion, that you were not experiencing your _own_ memories and life, and it's manifested in a very specific way."

"And what's that?" I was becoming defensive, not wanting to listen to what Cass was suddenly saying.

"You don't know your own name."

My initial reaction was laughter. How stupid of a statement could that have possibly been? I don't know my own _name?_ Of course I know my fucking name, it was… Uh… My name is… T… T-something… Or was it A-something? Or was it...?" My stomach clenched up as I realized that Cass was right. Somehow, I didn't remember my name… I must have somehow gone through the past few weeks having no one refer to me by name, or by forgetting it right after it happened. Either way, now that I was actively thinking about it for the first time...

I had no idea who I was.

Okay, this is ridiculous; how could I have lived my entire life without even remembering my own name? I could remember countless times when people had said my name, when I'd written it down, when I'd used it myself, but when I tried to recall what exactly my name was, what they'd called me, what I'd written down countless times on homework, tests, papers, projects, forms and documents... There was nothing. There had to be something wrong with my head, or something, because… God damn it, _what is my fucking name?_

"You are not who you think you are," Cass concluded. "This whole time, you have thought that you are the Knight of Force, but you are not. You are the consciousness of his dream self. It was _you_ who had your throat slit by the White Guardian. You are dead, existing only in this dream bubble. After re-experiencing your death this most recent time, however; rather than starting again at the beginning of your memories, like you always used to do, you let me in, though you don't remember it. You're the one who chose this memory of your waking self asking me out on a date as a way to allow me into your dream bubble. If it makes any difference, I actually think it was very sweet of you to choose this memory... I'd almost forgotten how it used to feel..."

I stood up abruptly and left, stumbling out of the auditorium, across the hallway, and into the men's bathroom. Cass watched me go for a few seconds before rising to her feet and following right behind me, having no qualms with walking into the men's bathroom. It was empty, anyway. She caught up with me as I looked into one of the mirrors. My breath caught in my throat as I saw my eyes. They were all white. No iris, no pupil, nothing. Just all white.

Suddenly, my clothes were gone. I was now wearing severely bloodstained golden Prospit pajamas, and I was bleeding profusely from my throat. It had been slit. My heart began to pound harder, but I could hear the heartbeat all around me, not just in my chest. Everything was beginning to spin around me, faster and faster. I couldn't get that image of myself in the mirror out of my head.

I staggered away from the mirror, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. I had to get out of here… I kind of felt like I needed to throw up, but my need to get the fuck out of the bathroom was greater. I stumbled out of the bathroom and was surprised when I emerged not into the hallway that ran around the auditorium, but onto a balcony of deep violet stone. A dark, shadowy city was sprawled out below me, stretching away into the dark horizon, as far as the eye could see—all of the buildings, spires, towers, and streets made from the same purple, obsidian-like material as this balcony.

I gripped the railing of the balcony, leaning heavily on it, taking several deep breaths. "I've never seen this place. This isn't my memory…is it yours?" I asked Cass.

"No, this is real," Cass replied. "I am traveling on Derse's moon, and I was just able to enter your dream bubble. The moon is physically here."

"This… This can't be happening." I tried to reason with Cass, with myself; painfully, _painfully_ aware of how much I sounded like I was simply grasping at straws. "Dream selves can't think for themselves—they don't have minds of their own! They aren't separate people!"

"Well, I think you're living disproof of that," Cass pointed out. She then winced and added, "Well, not so living anymore… The reason I was able to try and contact you at all, this time around, was because I had some help. Some help getting into your mind from one of the people who knows you best. And I think she wants to say hi…"

"_Hey, lil' bro_."

I turned around, coming face to face with a pretty girl who was my height, a year or two older maybe. She had short black hair and solid white eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose. She was dead, too. But even though her eyes were nothing but white ovals, I somehow already knew that they had been naturally red in life. Red like mine. A lump rose in the back of my throat. "Sis?" I asked. "Sis, is that you?"

"It's me, little bro," the dead, teenaged version of my Sis grinned. Funny, I couldn't really remember the last time she spoke to me with her voice.

Suddenly, we weren't on Derse's moon, anymore. We were back home. We were on the balcony of my house. It was chilly outside, but I couldn't really feel the cold. The ground and trees were covered with a heavy white coat of snow, and thick gray clouds hung low in the sky. I remembered this.

It was Christmas Day, 2001. The year we had a White Christmas. I'd been twelve. Sis had gotten me my Bowie hunting knife that year. Then I remember, after we opened presents and ate breakfast, us getting suited up in winter camo, going outside, and stalking each other through and around the woods behind my backyard for the rest of the day. The number of times she'd appeared out of nowhere, shoved a snowball into my face, only to vanish again when I wiped my eyes...

Best Christmas ever.

I broke down. I fell into my Sis's arms, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down my face. This was kind of embarrassing—I haven't truly cried like this since I was in the second grade, when an old, former stray cat Sis and I used to take care of had died. And the times I came close in the more recent past had all been private, quiet moments. No one's ever been around for them. But now here I was, completely losing it not only in front of my sister, but also in front of the emotionally-stunted, god tier version of the girl I liked.

My Sis caught me and lowered me down to the ground, where I rested my head on her shoulder, trying to keep the fear and disorientation at bay. "Sis, I don't know what's happening," I said to her, trying to keep my voice level.

"It gets easier," young Sis reassured me. "I've been living in the dream bubbles forever, now, but they never get old! You can meet all kinds of people if you know where and how to look. Cheer up, lil' bro! C'mon, I've always been able to make you stop crying; just let it all out."

"I mean…" I sniffed, wiping my nose. "If what you guys are saying is true, I'm… I'm not your lil' bro. Just a dead dream self…"

"Hey now," my Sis frowned. "You just finished reliving my bro's life again. You have his memories and his personality. You _are_ him. But you're dead, now, so you really don't have to think about it so hard! I can understand why you're so confused, though; I don't think I've ever seen a dream bubble where the consciousness within is actually experiencing someone _else's_ memories. The fact that you were reliving your memories from the perspective of your waking self...well, it's just pretty weird! But it doesn't have to matter anymore."

"I guess, but... I mean... Why would that happen to me?"

"I'm to blame for that one," Cass admitted. "I can control dream bubbles, to a certain extent, but yours was really difficult to tinker with. Like I said, your consciousness has an incredible amount of willpower—more so than any other consciousness I've come across before; part of being a Hero of Force, I would imagine—so I wasn't able to do nearly as much with your dream bubble as I'd normally be able to... But I could still control a few certain basic things to help make sure you became self-aware. I couldn't really alter your memories, but I _could_ alter your perception of them. I did a little 'Deathy' thing and influenced your bubble from the outside, made sure you relived your life from the perspective of your waking self. I'm sure you've already noticed how much more clear your mind has felt while you were dreaming on Prospit, as opposed to when you were actually active and awake? Well, now you know why."

"What?" I blinked, still trying to make sense of everything. "Why…why would you do that to me? Why would you make me live someone else's life?"

Cass's expression remained unchanged. I had no way of telling, but I was still fairly sure that it hurt her on the inside to do this, to strip away my own little fabric of reality. I mean... At least, I _hoped_ she was… She was acting kind of detached and emotionless, and it was freaking me out. "I _had_ to alter your perception of your memories. It was critical to maintaining the stability of your consciousness," she replied.

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means I ensured that your sanity won't go howling out the window when you wake up. Not permanently, at least; you'll need some time to adjust, but that is perfectly normal."

I still didn't really know what she was talking about. I couldn't exactly 'wake up' while I'm like this, just a consciousness contained in a bubble, maintained by my willpower, filled with my imagination, and populated with my memories. I was stuck like this because my body had died. No body, no waking up. Simple as that...

My Sis yanked me out of those darker thoughts right then, thankfully. I was beginning to think too much, and _thinking_ was something I needed to do a lot less of right now. "I've always been dying to finally meet you, lil' bro," she was saying as I finally regained control of my faculties. "You knew me in my first life, but I was remade and reborn, sent ten thousand years into the past of our incipisphere. That was back when our session was still a fertile, normal game session. But then everything got messed up. But it doesn't matter, anymore! Because it already happened—it's in the past, and there's no use worrying about it, anymore. Trust me, once you can understand that train of thought, when you can teach yourself to just let go... Being dead is the ultimate stress-reliever! Oh man, I can't wait to bring you to my friends; they're gonna love to meet you!"

"Uh…about that." Cass cleared her throat, inserting herself back into the conversation. She got my attention, spoke directly to me. "Look, you're about to go through something very difficult and possibly painful in a few moments. You won't be staying in the dream bubble."

"Wait, what?" I started frowning, the confusion quickly beginning to return, like a wall of water rushing to refill a riverbed after the floodgates holding it back were suddenly thrown open.

"Yeah, run that one by me, again?" my Sis's frown was even deeper than mine. Cass was making me more confused, but she seemed to be making young Sis more suspicious, if anything.

"I had to make sure your consciousness would be stable first, _before_ you made the transition," Cass explained to me, her composure beginning to slip as she worked to hold back tears. Well... I guess she _did_ still feel emotions... "If I hadn't altered your dream bubble, if you were to wake up with an unstable consciousness… That would have been very, very bad—possibly deadly. But you've finally become self-aware, now. Even if you don't _think_ you've accepted the truth...we both know that, deep down, your mind knew the truth from the beginning—all I had to do was bring it out into the light. You are ready, now."

"I'm... I'm leaving?" Panic started swelling up within me, and I began to breathe fast. "No... No, I don't want... But… But I was just starting to get the hang of this dream bubble thing! I'm fucking dead. My throat is slit right now, I'm just using my dream bubble to hide it and make it appear normal. How the hell do I wake up from something like this? That's impossible. No. No, I'm staying."

"It's happening already. You don't have a choice. None of us do," Cass declared. "I'll see you again, someday. I hope. If I can ever make my way back to the Garden, then maybe...maybe we could... Look, I'm sorry it had to be like this for you. I really am. No one deserves this, especially not you."

"What the fuck are you doing, Cass?" my Sis demanded to know, her throwing stars appearing in her hands. "You promised me-"

"I promised you that you would get to be with your brother," Cass cut my Sis off. "And so you have, for a short while."

"That's such bullshit, Death Girl, it's only been a couple minutes!"

All Cass could do was shrug, regaining her composure. "I'm sorry, my hands are tied here. There's really nothing I can do to stop it." And with that, Cass snapped her fingers and my Sis vanished. She turned back to me. "She probably won't forgive me for a long time, but it really _is_ out of my hands. I have no control over the fact that you're going to leave the dream bubbles; all I could do was to make sure you were ready to…"

Though I could still hear Cass's voice, I found that I couldn't really pay attention to what she was saying.

I felt weird. Really fuckin' weird... Like I was being shocked by a spark of incredibly powerful energy. It was red energy. I blinked, and suddenly I could no longer see Cass. No Cass, no home, no snow, no Christmas... Nothing.

I felt like I was zooming through space faster than the speed of light, almost feeling like I was being stretched across a vast distance. A consciousness, suddenly recalled back to reality.

My...uh... This was really hard to explain. My state of being, my consciousness, mind—whatever you want to call it—seemed almost like a vortex around that spark of red energy, swirling down into it. I then saw that the spark of energy was not actually consuming anything—it was merely growing in size. It was filling my body, flowing through all my veins, bones, muscles, tendons, and nerves. For a moment, I had a physical body composed entirely out of this red energy.

Then I felt the other presence within this strange, blank limbo. There was the consciousness of an eagle amid the red energy, as well. It was wary of my presence, and I could feel its potential hostility.

Then it got horrible.

Suddenly, I felt myself being… I can't really describe it. Merged. Combined. My consciousness and that of the eagle's were forced—no, _pressed_ together into one mind, and it was agony—so many memories and experiences that did not belong to me, suddenly forced into my mind. I found that I couldn't really differentiate which memories were mine and which were the eagle's; everything was deafening, overlapping...

I could only imagine what the eagle was feeling.

* * *

><p>My eyes flew open. I was back in my house. Floating over the stairs.<p>

I stared down at my hands. They were almost transparent, composed of some kind of red energy. I felt feathers covering my chest, back, sides, and arms, felt wings sprouting from my back. My hands also felt warped—they were much more muscular and knobby. More birdlike. And my fingernails had thickened and extended into talons.

And I couldn't feel my legs… I couldn't feel my legs, so I looked down and realized that the reason I couldn't feel them was because I didn't _have_ legs. Not anymore…

I recognized myself. Realized the abomination I'd become. I was a sprite. I was my own fucking Sprite.

A sense of horror and revulsion coiled within me as the full knowledge of my predicament came crashing down on me. "_No…_" I murmured.

This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening-

My attempt to block out reality was shattered by my own voice...but it wasn't coming from me. It was coming from...from _him_...

I could feel a deep, simmering rage burning up inside me. I don't even know what I was angry at... Skaia? This game? Cass? Myself? Existence in general? This fucking fake bird that I was having trouble distinguishing myself from—how the fuck did the eagle even have any memories or experiences of its own; it'd been a goddamn _statue for fucking fuck's sake why the fuck was I sharing memories with a fucking statue how the shit is that even fucking possible no just fucking no fucking GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING WAY! FUCK!_

I didn't try and calm myself down. I was angry, and I wanted to _stay_ angry. It felt... I dunno... Comforting, in some twisted sort of way? Like a coarse, warm, fucked up kind of security blanket I could use to shield myself from reality. I don't know what was fueling the anger; only that it was there, and it wasn't going away. I didn't even listen to what...to what _he_ said. Hearing my own voice coming from him was enough to set me off. "_Shut up!_" I screamed at him, not wanting to hear another person speak with my voice. It was _my_ voice. It was _my_ voice, _my_ life, _my_ memories. Not his. _Mine_. If they didn't belong to me, then the only real thing left in my head would be the eagle... No. Nope. They're _my_ memories, and that's the end of it. "Don't you _dare_ tell me those memories aren't mine!" I continued to shout, still desperately trying to separate my own memories from those of the eagle. "I'm a real person, you hear me? _I'm a real fucking person!_ I have a _name!_"

What was my name? What the fuck was it? Maybe if I could remember it, now, I'd be able to get the eagle's thoughts out of my head, be able calm my mind and stop my thoughts from constantly fucking _fighting_ each other for control... Goddamn it, goddamn every fucking thing that exists, and even some things that _don't_ exist just for good measure; _what the fuck is my name?_ It felt like I tried to think of my name for hours—raking through my mind with a fine-toothed comb, mentally searching my nonexistent ass off—though I really was only at it for a few seconds...but I came close. I came so close... I had it, I had it on the tip of my tongue, it was finally about to come back...

"**Dude...you're me.**"

_He'd_ just spoken again with my voice, shattered my concentration... I desperately tried to remember the name I'd been about to say... But there was nothing. It was gone. I felt like I was about to break down crying again, and I might've done exactly that...but then the _other_ guy opened his trap and said one last thing.

Well, it may not actually have been the last thing he was gonna say...but it was the last thing he was _able_ to say.

"**You're just my dream self-**"

Before I knew it, I'd whipped out a Bowie hunting knife from something that felt remarkably like a sylladex, only...different. But I wasn't really paying attention to the fact that I'd just produced a duplicate of my original weapon out of crimson-hued sprite energy, nor was I paying attention to how I'd retrieved it, or where it had come from. I wasn't _thinking_ at all. I was only _feeling_.

The rage I'd just felt moments ago was sparked, suddenly exploding into a roaring inferno of black fury, the likes of which I've never felt in my entire life. I've never even come _close_ to being this angry, before... I was already propelling myself forward with a powerful flap of the wings that I now suddenly had, lunging straight for the other guy. He had fast reflexes—he'd manged to whip out his own Bowie, bringing it up to deflect mine. His reflexes were the only thing he had to defend himself with, at the moment. My strike was so strong that it simply knocked the other guy's knife aside. The angle of my strike had been turned, though, so my blade only ended up scoring a deep graze on the side of the imposter's face.

I kept up the attack, raining down blow after blow on...on _him_... He was still in a slight state of shock, but he'd now stopped thinking, too, and had reverted to fighting with his instincts. His intelligence wouldn't help him against my anger, but his instincts seemed to be doing the job—he was holding his own against my barrage of attacks, but only just. I could sense him tiring, the growing desperation in the pattern of his defense.

Would I have killed him? Probably, yeah. But just as 'his' defense was beginning to come apart at the seams, I found myself slowing down. A lump had risen in my throat, and my eyes started to sting. You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. _Don't cry, you stupid little shit, don't fucking cry! Not now!_

It was no use fighting it. My body and psyche probably weren't able to sustain that level of wrath for too long without breaking down. It was horrible; I was physically fighting with that other guy, I was mentally wrestling with the consciousness of the eagle, trying to keep its instincts and urges from drowning out my own, and now I was battling with my own emotions. My anger was fading away, and I could almost literally feel my psyche dipping down into a deep depression. And that just made me even more pissed off—I didn't want to fucking cry like a little bitch; I wanted to blow a goddamn world up, right now.

I couldn't do it, anymore. All the fighting was overwhelming me, and I forced what little that remained of my mind to retake control of my new body. Letting out one last yell of frustration, I stopped attacking 'him' and broke off. I felt an odd sensation in my...what the...? It was my wings. I dunno how long it'd take for me to get used to having new appendages... I felt a strong tingling feeling in my wings, almost as if they were itching to fly, and if I chose to ignore that sensation I knew that it would get a hundred times worse. Don't know _how_ I knew that... I just kinda...well..._knew_. All I did was give into that sensation, and my wings seemed to do the rest; flaring out to their full span, sending me hurtling forward with each flap.

I rampaged across the front hall, blew through the living room, and crashed straight through one of the bay windows. I shot higher and higher into the sky with each new beat of my wings, leaving my house far, _far_ behind. When I looked down towards the ground, I was shocked to find that my vision... It was like I'd been staring at the world my entire life with a couple layers of plastic wrap over my eyes, and now my eyesight had just been jacked up to high-definition. Even as high up as I was flying, I could see, sharp and clear, worms emerging from the ground and burrowing down into it, little furry rodents that skittered about the hilltops... I forced myself to look away, because I found myself nearly succumbing to a sort of primal urge to swoop down and eat one of those animals.

I realized that those were primal urges from the eagle's consciousness; not my own. For some reason, that realization caused the rest of my anger to dissipate into the rain.

I knew no one could see me up here, but I was still glad, regardless, that when I started to cry again, it wasn't until I'd already lost myself inside the rainclouds. Now I was truly invisible. I maintained my altitude, closing my eyes and covering my face with my hands while I let loose.

What the fuck have I become? What kind of fucked up freak of nature have I just become?

Why couldn't Skaia have just let me stay dead?

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT IV<strong>


	42. ii Chapter 42: Arrival

**Intermission II: Concerning Origins**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Forty-Two: Arrival<span>

The monastery was a small one, even by Buddhist standards. A tiny collection of dwellings, nestled up on a nearly inaccessible ridge in the Himalaya Mountains. It had no name; and if it ever had, there was no one alive today who remembered it.

Technically, the monastery was located in Himachal Pradesh—the northernmost state of India—not far from the Chinese border. But all of the monks were Tibetan; the mountains were almost a country of their own.

There was a temple; the small, round building where the monks spent most of their time, meditating, praying, practicing their crafts, and—if only for a short part of their daily lives—sleeping. The temple was built on higher ground than the rest of the buildings, giving it the illusion of being larger than the rest of the monastery. There was also a small, shed-like building that was used to store the monastery's supplies—the monks only ate one meal per day, before noon, so they did not have to make supply runs very often.

The other buildings were tiny huts, for the monks to dwell in when they desired total isolation. As of now, they were all empty.

The monk's name was Gyo Shin, and he was seventy-two years old. Of the eleven monks who resided within the monastery, he was the youngest. He preferred to spend more time outside than his fellow _bhikkhus,_ finding more peace and clarity in the mountains and sky than he did inside the temple.

In the spring, Gyo Shin would always plant a modest garden of mountain flowers and vegetables around the temple, and he would spent the entire summer tending to it, collecting the seeds by autumn and starting again the following spring. Now, however, it was winter, and the ridge was covered in snow. But that did not stop the monk from spending the greater part of his day outside—he found the snow and the cold, crisp chill of winter just as beautiful and inspiring as the warmer seasons.

And so, when the comet fell from the heavens to the Himalayas, Gyo Shin was the only one to see it.

The old monk had walked out to the edge of the ridge and was looking out over the valley below. Down towards the valley floor was a much larger, much more well-known monastery called Ki Gompa. It was home to over two-hundred monks and served as a 'training grounds' of sorts for initiates. Sometimes one of the monks from Ki Gompa, or an initiate on rare occasion, would make the arduous journey up into the mountains to temporarily dwell in the unnamed monastery. They would do this when they wished for a period of isolation from the rest of the world.

No one made the journey in the winter, however. That would be asking for certain death.

Today was the thirteenth consecutive day Gyo Shin had walked to the edge of the ridge and watched the valley below. He was not looking at anything in particular; he was taking in the entire landscape, leaving nothing out. And someday in the near future, when he felt he was ready, he would retire to one of the huts with a canvas and some paints he had acquired in the valley last summer, and he would paint the valley from memory.

It was growing late when Gyo Shin rose from the boulder upon which he sat to retire for evening prayers and discussion with the other monks. He stood up and took a moment to stretch, easing the kinks from his cramped leg muscles. Then, as he started to turn away, a ball of flame roared through the clouds over the valley, falling towards the earth.

Gyo Shin was enraptured, his jaw hanging slack as he watched the fiery object. It almost looked like it was heading straight for the monastery, but fortunately it was not. The comet-like object passed almost directly over the monastery and slammed into the upper slopes of the mountain above with a sound that reminded the monk of a clap of thunder. The sound of the impact was echoed many times from mountain to mountain.

The old_ bhikkhu_ murmured a word in his native tongue, which translated to 'meteorite'. Though they did not see the meteorite fall to the earth, the other monks had heard it, and they came rushing out of the temple, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the daylight. Gyo Shin hurried over to his fellow _bhikkhus_ and told them of what had just happened.

The meteorite became the sole subject for the monks' debate session that they had every evening before they retired. Most of the monks were against any form of investigation into the meteorite. Gyo Shin, who had been born a Hindu, was brought up on the belief that meteorites represented messengers from the gods. It had been a long time since he had turned from such views, and he no longer put any stock into the existence of gods, but still… A childhood's worth of teachings may be disregarded, but they will never leave the mind.

So Gyo Shin understood why the other monks would not want to trifle with a meteorite. It was the same reason why a superstitious man might hesitate to wear red in a lightning storm. Sure, he knows that lightning is not attracted to color, and therefore if he were struck by lightning it would have happened no matter _what_ colors he was wearing…but at the same time, why purposefully tempt fate?

In truth, Gyo Shin was fascinated by the meteorite. Initiates were required to study a few certain subjects during their training, and astronomy had been one of Gyo Shin's favorites. Since childhood, he'd always had an affinity for the cosmos; and a meteorite, being an object directly _from_ the cosmos, having landed on the very same mountain he lived on… Gyo Shin wanted to go and examine the remains of the meteorite, perhaps even bring back a chunk and sculpt a statuette from it. But it was a dream at best; he knew that none of the other monks would want to investigate.

And so, surprise was the main emotion that Gyo Shin felt when the abbot of the temple declared that someone must travel up the mountain and make their way to the place where the meteorite fell, then return to the monastery and report to him what they found. Gyo Shin did not understand what the abbot meant or wanted, but he did not burden himself with such thoughts, instead seeing only the chance to fulfill his desire to see the rock from outer space.

Gyo Shin volunteered to climb the mountain. Because it was night, the monk could not begin until the next morning, so he slept until it was nearly dawn. He woke before dawn, proceeding outside to the storage building and helping himself to a bowl of rice before wrapping himself in his robes and beginning the hike up to the end of the ridge.

It took Gyo Shin several hours to reach the impact site. He was tired and cold, but he had survived many winters on this ridge that had been worse than this. He may have been old, but he was spry, and this climb had not even come close to defeating him. He pushed his way up the mountain on foot, carrying nothing but a gnarled walking stick to support him. At times he had to spear his way through thick snow, and even navigate around sheer rock faces so that he did not have to climb. It took him a short while, but he was able to ascend to the impact site of the meteorite.

There was a shallow crater in the icy rock where the meteorite had landed, and chunks of space rock lay strewn about the area. The meteorite had obviously shattered upon impact, and Gyo Shin could see several chunks of rock that would be suitable for his artistic pursuits. As he moved towards the shallow crater to recover one such rock fragment, his heart nearly gave out when he spotted the baby boy lying in the middle of the impact site.

The boy wasn't wearing any clothes. He was wide awake, too, but he was not crying or making any other sound. He had black hair…and upon closer examination, Gyo Shin was surprised to find that his eyes were red. The Buddhist monk was more than puzzled—the monastery's ridge was the only way onto the mountain from the south, and no one ever ascended past the monastery itself. The only possible way the baby could have ended up here was if he had been on that meteorite.

There was a bleeding cut on the palm of the boy's hand, and some sort of hunting knife lay in the snow next to him. Loathe as Gyo Shin was to handle weapons, he knew that the knife had arrived with the child, and separating the two would not have been wise, so he gingerly picked up the knife as he would a piece of garbage, stowing it away inside his robes.

And if the child only could have come here on the meteorite... That was a completely ridiculous notion; Gyo Shin did not waste any time entertaining it. But he was still perplexed by the presence of this strange infant with odd-colored eyes, lying unharmed in the middle of the crash site of a meteorite. Perhaps even more amazing was the fact that the boy had not frozen to death out here; he must have been remarkably resilient.

Voicing his surprise to himself, Gyo Shin hurried over to the baby boy and picked him up, tearing off part of his robes and wrapping the child within to warm him up. He wondered if the abbot had known that he would find something as strange as this, here…why else would he have allowed Gyo Shin to climb the mountain on a seemingly foolish errand, and then ask him to report back?

When Gyo Shin returned to the monastery, he voiced these questions to the abbot after he presented the baby boy and explained what had happened. A makeshift crib was created for the sky child to sleep in, and the abbot explained himself. Two years ago, when the abbot had been in the valley to receive supplies for the monastery, he had been approached by a stranger. That stranger had told him that one day a meteorite would fall from the sky, and it would land on this very mountain, and that it signified something incredibly important. The stranger then gave the abbot a satellite phone that could only call one number, instructing him to use it if a meteorite landed on the mountain, and if a child was found at the place where it impacted.

And now, that impossible scenario had just happened.

The abbot had actually kept the satellite phone. He never thought he would ever use it, but he still had not seen any harm in taking it. He was a man of great faith, and he knew that the stranger would have had to make a long and difficult journey to reach this place and give him that message, so he decided to honor that stranger's request. He was curious to see if anything came of it. The stranger had spoken English, and luckily the abbot could speak English, so he was the one who used the satellite phone. A woman's voice answered, and when the abbot informed her of what had happened, there was a pause.

Then the woman on the phone instructed the abbot to keep the child there, and that she was on her way immediately. Then the phone went dead.

This time, while all the monks at the monastery would normally have taken the boy down to Ki Gompa, down in the valley, it was winter. There was no way they would be able to make their way down the mountain ridge themselves in the winter, let alone with an infant boy, so it was decided that they would wait until the spring thaw before taking any further action.

Then, just three days after Gyo Shin had brought the infant boy down from the mountain, there was a loud knock at the door of the temple, interrupting the monks' morning prayers. The monks fell into a shocked silence. Someone was at the door…which meant that someone had managed to climb the ridge to the monastery. In the winter. This was unheard of.

The abbot rose from the floor and answered the door, allowing a hooded figure to step inside.

The hooded figure was dressed in a thick jacket, revealed to be a young woman in her late teens when she reached up and pulled back her hood. She was foreign—short black hair, white skin that was more on the pale side.

"_Namaste,_" The young woman touched her palms together and bowed her head in greeting. The abbot of the temple repeated the gesture and greeting. With that over with, the young woman wasted no time in getting down to what she was here for. "My name is Abigail Tarrant; you met me in Ki Gompa two years ago. I gave you the satellite phone. Where is he?"

The abbot was no simpleton; he knew exactly who the stranger was referring to. Beckoning for the woman to follow him, he led her deeper into the temple, to the room where the makeshift crib had been set up.

The young woman walked up to the side of the crib, looking down at the sleeping infant within. The abbot could see the immediate change of emotion in the young woman's eyes and face. "He's beautiful." She smiled as she reached down and gently picked up the infant, lifting him into her arms. "Hey there, lil' bro. Ready to come home?"

* * *

><p>The red Ferrari shot down South Broadway Street like a bullet traveling through the barrel of a rifle, speeding through the heart of Yonkers, New York. It was a top-quality car…and it was also the most expensive thing the man driving it owned. Nothing else came close; not even his home.<p>

The driver of the Ferrari was a brown-haired man. He was in his early thirties, not quite middle-aged. He had brown hair that he loosely gelled and combed back, and a closely-trimmed beard and mustache accentuating the lower half of his face. When he went into the city, he would always be mistaken for Bradley Cooper by at least one random person who asked him for an autograph. He did not mind this, however; he would take whatever they gave him and sign his name on it, enjoying their faces when they realized he wasn't who they thought he was. He also wore black aviator sunglasses, which he was rarely ever seen without. He had contacts he always put in when he removed his sunglasses, but he only resorted to that when he absolutely _had_ to. The contacts were uncomfortable, and he had no idea how his son could wear them so easily.

The man turned off the main road and turned into the access lane for Cedar Place Elementary School—the access lane was _Cedar Place_. The man never knew whether the school had been named after the road it was on, or if it was the other way around. But in the end, he did not give too much of a shit.

He had known this day would come; his son was only in the second grade, but this was the fourth elementary school he'd attended since starting kindergarten…and the man had a feeling that, after today, that number would have to increase to _five_. It was the third time the principal of this school had asked for the man to come in to retrieve his son, and it was usually on the third time that the jig was up.

The man could only wonder what his son had done this time.

After pulling into a parking spot, the man killed the engine, got out of the Ferrari, and walked into the school. The main office was directly on the other side of the lobby, and the brown-haired man was about to head straight there…when he caught a whiff of something that fascinated him. It smelled like every single kind of cafeteria food, mixed with garbage and spilled drinks.

Though he knew he wasn't supposed to walk through the school without a visitor's ID, the man quickly stole off into the nearest hallway when the front receptionist wasn't looking. He followed the pungent smells around the corner of the hallway, past the auditorium, to its source; the school cafeteria.

The cafeteria looked like a tornado had ripped through it. There was food quite literally everywhere—slices of pizza, hot dogs and hamburgers, salads, tacos; all kinds of whatever slop this cafeteria served. It was all over the floor, the tables, the walls and windows…even the ceiling, in many spots. Members of the custodial staff were busy cleaning the disaster up, all of them looking like they should be on suicide watch.

And outside, through the open doors and windows on the opposite side of the cafeteria, the brown-haired man could see ambulances. There were unconscious kids who were being loaded onto stretchers. Other kids were being spoken to by the paramedics—flashlights shined into their eyes, being asked basic questions about themselves to see if they had concussions…

The man pursed his lips as he turned away from the cafeteria. Yep, no doubt about it. This had his son's name written all over it. And yet, despite the irritation that the brown-haired man felt…he couldn't help but also feel a twinge of amusement, recalling his own childhood troublemaking days. Of course, he'd never put kids into ambulances, before… No, this time his son had gone too far.

"Mister Caiazzo, please come in," the principal greeted the brown-haired man, rising from his desk to invite him to sit down. He was a plump, sweaty man with a perpetually red face. Mr. Caiazzo wondered if he normally looked like this; after all, the only time he'd ever seen the principal was when he'd been called in to deal with his son's antics—never when the principal was in a good mood. "I am sure you know why you have been asked to come here, today."

"What's he done this time?" Mr. Caiazzo asked in a resigned tone, already knowing the answer as well as what was going to follow it.

Sitting in the second chair in front of the principal's desk was Mr. Caiazzo's son. He was eight years old—thin, but not skinny, somewhat unruly brown hair that had been combed back like his dad's. He was one of the more popular kids in school, despite only being in the second grade. He had a cute face that could not yet be considered attractive—he was much too young for that—but he'd already managed to get kissed by over half the girls in his class, which was quite an achievement at that age. It was almost as if he had some unconscious sort power over their minds.

Mr. Caiazzo's son stared at the floor when his dad walked in, not making eye contact. There was always a mischievous glint in his eyes, and he thought it best his dad did not see it at the moment.

"Your son started a riot in the cafeteria during lunch, today," the principal explained to Mr. Caiazzo.

"That was the food fight I saw in there?" Mr. Caiazzo arched an eyebrow, wondering how much he should feign surprise. "Seems a bit much to be started by a single eight-year-old, don't you think?"

"_Food fight_ does not even begin to encompass the chaos that was raging in that cafeteria," the principal muttered. The principal did not like Mr. Caiazzo very much; the brown-haired man's thick Brooklyn dialect grated on him, and he was irritated by how the other man did not remove his sunglasses while indoors. "I have nearly a dozen injured students being taken to the hospital. One of them even had a severe concussion from being hit by a falling vending machine. Three of them had broken bones! And if _that_ weren't bad enough, one of my teachers suffered a fractured wrist; she was struck in the head by an apple and knocked off-balance. All of the students involved were questioned thoroughly, and it was made clear that your son was the mastermind. All trails led back to him. Several of the faculty on cafeteria duty reported that he was also the one to throw the first item of food."

"Okay, let's get to the point." Mr. Caiazzo already knew what was coming; he wasn't in the mood to drag this out any further. "What's it gonna be, this time? Time-out? Lunch detention?"

The principal had to stop himself from laughing. "You're lucky we don't bring your son up on criminal charges, Mr. Caiazzo. He's clearly learned nothing from his previous suspensions. No, I'm afraid we have no choice. Consider this your formal notice from the Board of Education that your son will be expelled from this school. Of course, you have the right to a hearing, but I can guarantee you that the evidence against your son is quite ironclad."

Mr. Caiazzo discussed a few last things with the principal before saying goodbye, taking his son by the arm, and leaving the main office. Once they were out the front entrance and walking towards the parking lot, the brown-haired man's scowl returned. He glanced down at his son, who was still avoiding eye contact.

"A food fight, Gino?" Mr. Caiazzo arched an eyebrow. "A goddamn _food fight?_ Really? What am I gonna do with you; do you think you're still in fuckin' kindergarten?"

"No," was all Gino said in reply, still trying to make himself scarce.

"Then why're you _actin'_ like you're still in fuckin' kindergarten? 'Cuz, food fights that send your classmates to the hospital? That's fuckin' _kindergarten_ shit; I thought you'd moved past that!" Mr. Caiazzo took a deep breath, calming himself down. In spite of himself and the frustration he was feeling…he couldn't stay angry at his son. Gino looked almost like he was about to cry, and Mr. Caiazzo was a big softie on the inside when that happened.

Mr. Caiazzo spun himself effortlessly over the lip of the car door, landing neatly in the driver's seat. His son performed the exact same move, only in reverse; landing in the passenger seat next to him. Mr. Caiazzo started the Ferrari's engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back onto Broadway Street, Route 9, traveling south. This road, if followed south far enough, would eventually take him through Manhattan, all the way down to the Theatre District.

Mr. Caiazzo took in another deep breath and finally relented on his son once they were cruising back towards their apartment. "Well, now that all that shit's done and over with… How the hell'd you manage to get everyone to trash the fuckin' place like that?"

A ghost of a smile started to return to Gino's face. "I asked 'em to," the eight-year-old shrugged. "An' then they all wanted to."

"Really? Just like that?" Mr. Caiazzo sounded dubious. "C'mon, Troublemaker, you can tell me. How'd you persuade 'em? What'd you bribe 'em with?"

"You ain't listenin' to me, I didn't persuade 'em to do shit!" Gino protested, reclining his seat a bit and propping his feet up over the glove compartment. "All I did was fuckin' _ask_ if a few of my friends wanted to do a food fight, an' they said 'sure', an' then I asked a bunch more people if they wanted to join, an' _they_ said 'sure', an' then I start throwin' shit, an' _everyone_ fuckin' joins in, just like that! Then the teachers come in an' try to stop us, so I tell everyone to start throwin' shit at the teachers…an' then they do! They fuckin' _plaster_ the teachers! It was fuckin' awesome!"

"You sent people to the hospital, Gino," Mr. Caiazzo reminded his son firmly. "You went too far, this time…"

Gino's grin faded, and he took his feet down from the glove compartment, staring sullenly down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, dad… I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt…"

"Eh… I'd have had to pull you outta school here, anyway…" Mr. Caiazzo muttered. Maybe it was bad parenting, but he simply hated to see his son feeling down. It made him just want to give Gino a big hug and take him out paintballing. "Remember that job offer from Skaianet? Well they finally called me back this morning, an' they want me to work for 'em as a senior systems analyst. We're movin' outta New York."

The eight-year-old looked back up. "Skaianet actually wants you to work for 'em? They lowerin' their standards, or somethin'?"

"Hardy-fuckin'-har, Troublemaker thinks he's a fuckin' comedian, now," Mr. Caiazzo grumbled, rolling his eyes even though they were still obscured by the aviators. "We're gonna be movin' to Pennsylvania…an' I'll tell you what. You stop gettin' yourself expelled, an' maybe I'll consider givin' your troublemakin' ass an allowance. I'll be able to afford it, with my new job."

"An allowance?" Gino's face lit up. An allowance was something for which he'd been pressing his dad for a while, but Mr. Caiazzo simply didn't have enough money to afford it. But now, with a new job… Skaianet was one of the largest companies out there. Getting a good position with them was no small deal. "For real?"

"For real." Mr. Caiazzo nodded. He then reached into one of the pockets of his leather jacket and produced a smaller pair of aviator sunglasses, identical to his own. He held them out to his son. "Here, Troublemaker. Lil' celebration gift for ya."

"Oh, fuckin' _yes,_" Gino's grin turned into a full smile as he took the sunglasses. He reached into a pocket of his own and pulled out his contacts case. "Fuckin' _hate_ wearin' these contacts all the time…" The eight-year-old touched two fingers to his eyes, plucking out the colored contact lenses that he wore every time he left the apartment, revealing his bright, golden-yellow irises for a moment before he covered them up with his new sunglasses. "Lookin' good?" Gino asked his dad.

"Like a fuckin' champ, little man," Mr. Caiazzo chuckled, giving the Ferrari a little gas, speeding even faster down Broadway Street.

"You not mad, then?" Gino asked hesitantly, sensing the opportune moment to address his earlier behavior had arrived. Parents were much easier to reason with when they were laughing than when they were shouting.

"Naw, little man, I ain't mad…" Mr. Caiazzo sighed. "Just dial it down a bit, okay? No more food fights. An' stop fuckin' swearin' so much… This is a new start, alright?"

"New start, yeah, got it." Gino nodded several times, relaxing back into his chair once again and propping his feet back up. "Soo…does that mean you ain't gonna punish me?"

That was enough to make Mr. Caiazzo almost break down in a fit of laughter. "Oh, you crack me up sometimes… Absolutely not, Troublemaker; your ass is grounded for a month."

Gino gave a snort, rolling his eyes just like his father. "Only a month, this time? That really the best you can do?"

"Grounded for a month…" Mr. Caiazzo's face parted into a grin. "An' no pizza for a week."

"_Fuck._"


	43. ii Chapter 43: High-Stakes Retrieval

Chapter Forty-Three: High-Stakes Retrieval

The operative looked down at the village through her binoculars, her scowl deepening as she watched the men hop off the trucks, firing their AK-47s into the air. They were dressed in t-shirts and jeans, athletic shorts, bright colors, sunglasses… Not uniforms. She wondered how long it would have been before the war tearing apart the rest of Somalia touched this village. A year or two, perhaps? Maybe six months?

Ever since the meteorite had crashed into the hills just north of the village last night, however…

The operative had emigrated to the United States after completing her mandatory army service in the Israeli Defense Force. She served for two years when she turned eighteen, as all Israeli citizens not of Arab descent are required to do.

At first, the operative had been eager to join the battle. After all, she'd lost her best friend in a rocket strike in Tel Aviv. She was barely into grade school when it'd happened… Her best friend's name had been Cassandra Reznik, and the operative had gravitated towards her because other students would make fun of her strange, ethnically-foreign name. But while strange, it was a name the operative would never forget, and after hearing of her friend's death in the capital… Well, she wanted a chance for revenge. And luckily or unluckily for her, she was guaranteed to receive one, due to Israel's conscription laws.

As a member of the IDF from 1987 to 1989, the operative had been present for the First Intifada—a Palestinian uprising against Israeli rule that resulted in waves of violence sweeping across Gaza and the West Bank. She had also participated in the 1988 strike against Hezbollah that comprised of a punitive raid into Lebanon; twenty-one of her comrades had died in that operation.

The operative left Israel after completing her service, weary of the violence in the Middle East, but encountered much difficulty finding employment in the United States. This was not entirely due to a lack of jobs—the American economy was doing quite well at that time—but more an inability to get along with her bosses. That is, until she was approached by a representative for Skaianet. The operative didn't trust Skaianet—the technology company seemed to have its fingers in a lot of pies, and the operative believed in such a thing as being 'too big'. But the paycheck for the job Skaianet offered her was too good to refuse.

Though now, the operative was close to having second thoughts. She had waited patiently for a year in the town of Afgooye—a minor population center roughly twenty-five kilometers west of the capital city of Mogadishu. When tensions between the old military regime and the resistance groups neared the breaking point, the operative didn't bat an eye. When those tensions snapped and civil war broke out earlier in the year, the operative still wasn't fazed; she'd grown up in a warzone, and a little civil war wasn't going to give her pause.

When members of the various resistance groups turned on each other, after the fall of the Somalian government… It was especially bad in the south, where the power vacuum left by the toppled military regime was sought to be filled by two rival warlords, both of whom had once been high-ranking officers what had once been the Somali military. Once, the operative had witnessed the burning of a village not far from the outskirts of Afgooye by members of one such faction. Bodies left to rot in the sun, limbs and heads hacked off by machetes, the smell of hot blood and the incessant buzzing of all the flies…

_That_ had given her pause.

Atrocities in her homeland were committed by both Israelis and Palestinians, but the kind of warfare that happened in Africa… The operative was used to rockets. Suicide bombers. Roadside bombs. Explosives… Not murder in this fashion, so up close and personal… It sickened her to her stomach.

The meteor had fallen from the sky last night. The operative had even been lucky enough to see it on the night it fell; a fiery streak blazing a trail through the star-studded sky, making landfall somewhere to the north. The simple act alone of merely _seeing_ the meteorite saved the operative a lot of time—she already knew the direction in which she needed to head, as well as a rough estimation of how far she had to travel.

Yes, that meteorite was the reason why the operative was here. Her mission had been given to her directly from none other than the CEO of Skaianet. The operative was to travel to Afgooye and wait for a meteor to make landfall somewhere nearby. And when that happened, she was ordered to call it in to Skaianet, proceed to impact site, recover what she found, and report back to Skaianet a second time for extraction. And that was the extent of the details she'd been given.

However the CEO of Skaianet had been able to predict the arrival of this meteorite, the operative would never know. But she also knew that it could not have been an infallible method—Skaianet obviously had not foreseen a Somali militia force swarming the area where the meteorite had fallen.

The operative was more than capable of looking after herself—combat reports that made special mention of her actions while a member of the IDF were part of the reason why Skaianet was drawn to her in the first place—but she found herself missing being part of a squad. It was always easier to look at a larger enemy force while having friends of your own to back you up. But then again…the operative was not one to constantly choose the easier of two paths. And she _did_ prefer working alone; not having to rely on others, as well as not having to have others rely on _her_. It was simpler, this way.

And so, upon seeing the arrival of the meteorite, the operative hurried down to the garage in the small house she owned, unveiling the jeep she'd kept hidden under a tarp and some trash since her arrival. The very next thing she did was to power up her satellite phone and place a call in to Skaianet, quickly reporting that her meteorite had arrived and that she was en route to intercept. She then grabbed her M21 rifle, extra ammunition, as well as a few food rations and extra gasoline; she did not want to die of thirst in the desert, nor did she want to be stranded there by running out of gas. Once she was ready, the operative climbed into the jeep and sped off into the night, leaving the town of Afgooye behind.

And now, it was nearly mid-morning, and the militia members had come to the village to investigate the loud explosion—they did not know it had been a meteorite, assuming instead that it had been some kind of artillery or bomb. They probably thought the village down there had a weapons cache of some sort, and it was only a matter of time before the militia grew impatient with the villagers' claims that they had no weapons.

Who would believe that a meteorite had just crash-landed in the hills to the north?

The operative decided to move in on foot. She lowered her binoculars and put her sunglasses back on. She strapped her rifle to her back and checked to make sure her pistol was secured in its holster, grabbed the car keys and slipped them into her pocket, and started running. She ran in a wide arc around the village, careful to keep to the trees wherever she could, running as low as she could to the ground without sacrificing too much speed. Luckily, the militia fighters were too busy harassing the villagers to worry too much about their perimeter.

The operative counted her blessings and moved on, passing the village by within five minutes, doing her best to ignore the screaming. The hills were just up ahead—the operative was muttering under her breath as she sprinted; Skaianet had better have a very good reason for making her do this. Yes, meteorites were very fascinating and all, but not fascinating enough to warrant charging headfirst into a warzone.

The operative kept reminding herself about the massive paycheck from Skaianet that she would get. Then she could relocate to some quiet town and start the family she'd always wanted. All she had to do was get to the impact site of that meteorite and find whatever Skaianet wanted to find. And if there was nothing there…then she had a gun-cam on her rifle that could prove that there was nothing to find. Speaking of which…

The operative retrieved her M21 from her back when she reached the hills, taking a moment to flick off the safety and blow sand out of the sights. Then she was right back to it…running, sprinting…scaling hillsides, always mindful of remaining out of the village's sight. The smoke of the meteorite had faded by morning, but the operative had managed to spot some of the debris from her previous vantage point, so she knew where she was going.

The operative knew she was getting close when she started to notice little fragments of dark rock strewn about the hillside she was making her way around. They grew larger as she got further up the hill…and when she reached the top of the hill, she could see the impact site on the slope of the next hill over—the meteorite had blown a good-sized crater into the earth, scattering fragments and debris all over the place.

The operative raised her M21, making sure the gun-cam had a good view of the crash site. There would be nothing cheating her out of her paycheck due to lack of foresight. She made her way around the hill she was currently on and quickly hoofed it up the slope of the next hill…and nearly dropped her rifle in surprise when she reached the place where the meteorite had landed, her breath catching in her throat.

Lying in the middle of the impact site was an infant! A real, live, bawling baby girl. No clothes, no identification…no nothing. She couldn't have been from around here because she had white skin—closer to the tan end of the 'Tan-Pale' spectrum, but still white nonetheless. She was not Somali. And then her eyes… If her skin color wasn't strange enough, being out here in the middle of Somalia, her eyes were even more bizarre. They were a very odd color…and if they were any other color, the operative would have been merely intrigued, but the fact that they were _that_ color…

Coming back to her senses, the operative lowered her M21 and crouched down, taking off her light desert-camouflage jacket and wrapping it around the strange infant. It was lucky that the operative had arrived when she did—the girl probably would not have survived for very much longer out here.

"_Ech kor'im lach?_" the operative murmured to the infant as she picked her up. She'd asked the girl what her name was, obviously knowing fully well that she would not get an answer. She continued to speak softly to the infant, gathering her up in her arms and walking slowly down the hill.

The operative was already crouching into a protective stance when the first gunshot rang out. The bullet impacted the ground about a meter to the left of where the operative crouched, sending a puff of dust up into the air. The operative took off running, holding the baby girl close. As she sprinted, the operative could spot a small group of six militia fighters making their way towards the meteorite's crash site from the village, being led by an elderly man who must have been one of the villagers. The elderly man forgotten, the militia fighters broke off and started to pursue the operative, the staccato reports of the AK-47s cutting through the sound of the wind, along with the militia fighters jabbering on in whatever language they spoke. Somalis spoke Arabid, which the operative could recognize, but they also had their own native language which was not even close to being understandable.

The operative was a fast runner, but there was only so much she could do while carrying an infant. She'd have to make a brief stand and handle this immediate threat before moving on. She came to a stop at the crest of one of the last hills before the village, gently placing the infant girl down onto the ground. She then went prone on her stomach and focused the sights on her M21 sniper rifle.

She took several deep breaths, compensating for the wind and moving her crosshairs to the first unlucky fighter's center of mass. After holding her breath for a moment, she squeezed the trigger, holding her aim until she saw the fighter get jerked back around to the ground, a small explosion of what looked like red mist at this distance spraying out of the bullet wound in his chest.

One by one, the operative took out all but one of the remaining militia fighters pursuing her. After she took down the second and third, the remaining three cut their losses and tried to run…but only one of them made it out of the hills and into the village safely. The operative's gunfire had been masked by the AK-47s of the fighters terrorizing the village…but with that last man back in the village from the hills, the operative would only have minutes until the entire invasion force was coming down on her head.

The operative could see militia fighters streaming out of the village towards her hill, where she'd sniped the five men, by the time she was nearing her jeep, and they were swarming the hilltop as she climbed inside. The operative sat the baby girl up as best she could in the passenger seat, securing her with the seat belt. There really wasn't much else she could do—she hadn't been expecting a kid, and it wasn't like she had a spare booster seat in the trunk, or anything…

If the fighters hadn't known where the operative was before, they certainly found out when she fired up her engine and pounded the gas pedal to the floor, sending the jeep speeding away from the village in a plume of dust and sand. It was the village's lucky day—the militia fighters all returned to their trucks to give chase. They'd probably return later to burn the village, but at least the inhabitants would be able to flee.

"_Harah…_" The operative swore when she saw the militia trucks rumble onto the road behind her—she'd put a little distance between herself and the village, but the fighters reacted faster than she'd hoped. She would have to speed things up, here… The operative reached down into the door compartment on her left and pulled out her satellite phone. She had the CEO's personal number on speed dial.

The operative didn't even wait for the CEO to speak when she heard the call go through. "This is Retrieval-Two! I reached the impact site and recovered an infant girl! You hearing me right? I recovered an infant girl from the impact site! Did you know about this?"

"_Por favor, please try and remain calm-_" the calm, kindly tones of Chela Arevalo, the elderly founder and CEO of Skaianet, issued through the phone from the other end of the call, but the operative was not to be placated quite yet.

"How was I supposed to effectively deal with this situation when I didn't know it was a _child_ I was supposed to recover?" The operative went on. "What kind of assignment is this, a-"

"_Enough! I ask that you calm yourself before continuing to speak to me._" the CEO cut the operative off. It was enough to make the operative fall silent—though the CEO was a kindly old woman, she was not someone who you'd want to piss off. The CEO sensed the silence on the operative's part, and when she continued speaking, she'd returned to her usual tone, adopting a more informal approach. "_Digame, senorita. Talk to me. Your assignment has obviously been completed; what do you need from me?_"

The operative glanced over at the infant in the passenger seat, making sure she was still alright. The fact that she was still even in the seat spoke volumes. "I can't make it to my assigned departure," the operative said over the phone. "I am currently being pursued by Somali militia fighters, and if I don't get a swift ticket out of this dump… You'll have a dead baby girl with violet eyes on your hands." The operative wasn't quite sure why she'd mentioned the girl's eyes. It'd just slipped out.

"_I'm rerouting your evacuation team now,_" the CEO informed the operative. "_Good thing your phone has a GPS device installed; they will be able to pinpoint your exact location._" There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then the CEO added, "_Were these violet eyes perchance the same color as your own?_"

That gave the operative pause. With a frown, she asked, "How do you know my eye color?"

All the CEO would say in reply was, "_See you soon, Miss Galavis. Buena suerte._" And with that, the call ended.

The operative was left on her own once again, doing her best to outrun these militia trucks… But she wasn't on her own for very long. Within a few minutes, a shadow fell over the speeding jeep, accompanied by the _whump whump whump_ of rotor blades. The operative spared a glance upward, seeing the helicopter descend closer to the jeep, matching her speed.

As she continued to drive, a pair of clamps were lowered from the inside of the helicopter, slowly reaching down towards the jeep until they were able to clamp onto its upper frame. There was a slight lurch as the jeep was plucked off of the sandy road, but nothing major. The helicopter then banked north, taking the jeep round in a wide arc. The operative figured they'd head for neighboring Ethiopia and acquire transport out of Africa, probably to the United Kingdom or someplace where it would be easy to get back to the States.

The operative removed the violet-eyed girl from the passenger seat and held her close—she felt much better when _she_ was holding the baby than when the seat belt was. She stuck up her middle finger at the militia trucks as the helicopter soared past them, hoping that they could all see it.

Settling back into the driver's seat while the clamps winched the jeep up towards the underbelly of the helicopter, the operative had nothing left to do but turn her attention back to the baby she was holding. She couldn't really explain why, but she felt the need to name her. After all, the baby obviously had no parents or birth certificate…

Ultimately, it was to her long-deceased best friend from her childhood that the operative's thoughts turned. She had tried to avenge her best friend's death through her actions with the IDF…but that had brought her no satisfaction at all, coupled with many sleepless nights. No, there were other, better ways for the operative to honor the memory of her friend, and they didn't involve bloodshed.

"May 16th…" the operative murmured the date to the baby girl, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Happy birthday, Cassandra."

* * *

><p>It was raining rather hard, today.<p>

The rain was not all that surprising; all the coastal regions within Georgia usually had a subtropical climate, marshlands, and frequent rains. The Samegrelo province was obviously no exception, even in late October.

Tash was only sixteen years old, but he'd already been fighting for nearly two years. He'd been there, in Georgia's capital city of Tbilisi, two years ago, when the National Guard had split into factions—one supporting the government of President Zviad Gamsakhurdia, and one opposing him. He'd been there when the populace started protesting, building barricades in the streets, throwing bottles and rocks at one another. He'd been there when the oppositionist officers of the National Guard were arrested, prompting the anti-Gamsakhurdia faction of the Guard to withdraw from Tbilisi.

Then violence had broken out. Oppositionist fighters entered Tbilisi in December, brutally repressing pro-government demonstrations, firing indiscriminately into crowds. Tash had been at one such demonstration with his adoptive father, watched as the man who'd raised him from infancy was cut down by bullets from oppositionist guns. When the oppositionists began to spread through the city, Tash would never forget fleeing through an alleyway and stumbling upon a squad of loyalist National Guardsmen who'd just lost one of their own to the violence, and were in danger of being cut off from the rest of the pro-government forces. The sergeant of that squad asked Tash if he could shoot—when the fourteen-year-old replied in the affirmative, the sergeant picked up his fallen man's rifle and tossed it to Tash. And from that point on, though he could have easily run away and hidden from the violence, Tash stuck with the ousted loyalists.

Eventually, with the president fleeing to Armenia, the oppositionists formed their own interim government called the Military Council. Even when Gamsakhurdia later returned from exile to consolidate his forces, having popular support from much of the people—especially in Samegrelo and the rural regions… The cowards in charge of the Military Council turned to Russia for help. Russia sent weapons, technology, and supply-line security to assist the Georgian Military Council in crushing the Zviadist movement, beginning to turn the tide of the conflict.

And now, two years later, Tash found himself in the town of Senaki, less than forty kilometers from the coast of the Black Sea. Though the loyalists—_Zviadists,_ as they were called by the populace—had been driven from Tbilisi, they had managed to fall back to the Samegrelo province, home of the ousted president, holding it secure against the oppositionists.

Tash watched the thunderheads overhead, the constantly-shifting mountains of dark gray and black clouds, occasionally silhouetted by a distant flash of lightning. The sixteen-year-old Georgian wondered how it had come to this. He had supported the government against a rebel movement…and now _he_ was a rebel. And not only was he part of what was considered to be a rebel movement; he was part of a _failing_ rebel movement. He had once fought alongside the National Guard, but now he was considered to be part of a militia. When had everything been switched around, he wondered.

The sound of music started to drift out of the house which Tash and his squadmates were encamped in. It was _Korobeiniki,_ an old Russian folk song known by almost everyone in eastern Europe. It had achieved fame in the West, as well, when it was used as the music for a 1989 game called… _Tetris,_ Tash believed the name was? Something along those lines.

Tash took one last deep breath of the cold, rainy outdoors before retiring to the house. The people who'd owned this home, as well as most of the populace of Senaki, had fled. They feared the fighting that was inevitably going to come. In the bottom floor of the house was a large living room, complete with a fireplace. The members of Tash's squad had gathered firewood a while ago, and they tried to keep the fire going as long as they could. As a result, this house was one of the warmest in the town, and the envy of the rest of the militia stationed there.

And sitting in front of the fireplace, dressed in toddler's clothing, was a two-year-old girl. She was pale, with green eyes and short black hair. In her hands, she held a small ukulele, which she was using to strum out the tune of _Korobeiniki_. Her musical talent at only two years old was stupefying, being able to play folk music at an age where most others would struggle simply to hold the instrument properly. She did not speak much, apart from the occasional swear word that she picked up from the fighters, but that did not matter so much. It was her music that the men loved, and they found it amusing beyond all belief when she would unknowingly call someone a nasty name.

The story of how Tash had encountered this girl was an impossible one to believe, and that is why the sixteen-year-old decided to simply tell everyone that she was an orphan he'd found at the side of the road during the retreat from Tbilisi. But that wasn't what'd actually happened…

Tash didn't really like to think about it. During the latter stages of the violence in Tbilisi, Tash had lost most of his squad in a conflict with an oppositionist tank. The only member of the squad with anti-armor weapons had been blown to smithereens in the tank's opening salvo, leaving the rest of the squad with nothing to fight the tank with except their small-arms and fists. Then the tank was supported by oppositionist fighters, and the rest of Tash's impromptu squad, including the sergeant who'd recruited him, was killed or driven off…leaving Tash pinned down behind rubble in the middle of the street with severely limited ammunition.

Then the impossible happened. It was a meteorite, Tash realized, after he dared to poke his head out from behind cover. A meteorite straight from outer space. He'd heard a loud, thundering roar coming down from the sky, followed by a deafening explosion that sent a shockwave of dust, rock fragments, and dirt showering onto Tash's head. He was lucky he wasn't struck by any larger chunks of masonry.

And when Tash finally staggered back to his feet, realized it'd been a meteorite that'd somehow crashed into the street, as insane as that sounded… The meteorite had hit the tank that'd wiped out his squad. The oppositionist fighters who hadn't been killed in the blast had counted their blessings and gotten the hell out of there, leaving Tash alone on the street.

Tash had found an infant girl in the middle of the crater the meteorite had torn into the road, and he knew for a fact that she hadn't been there before the impact… Somehow, impossibly, that baby arrived here with that meteorite. Tash wasn't a very religious or superstitious kid, but he recognized the supernatural when he saw it, and he feared it would be bad luck to abandon that girl. And so, he took the infant with him, regrouping with the loyalist National Guard outside of Tbilisi.

He'd intended to leave her at the first household he came across, but found to his surprise that the baby girl didn't need formula or breast milk to survive. She was doing just fine off of the meager rations that Tash had access to. And this was fortunate, because he did not encounter any households that were capable of taking her in. Then, a few months later when he joined a new unit, the others in the squad accidentally discovered the extent of her musical talent when she'd gotten her hands on a guitar belonging to one of the officers.

Tash's attempts to get the girl away from the fighting ended in failure—the men liked her music too much, and the officers saw her as a morale-booster. Tash couldn't believe it; he couldn't believe how his superiors were actually, realistically, keeping a toddler with a fighting unit. Fuck her musical talents; this was no place for a child. It was deplorable. On the other hand… Tash knew he'd be shot if he attempted to abscond with the child, but that wasn't the reason why he never attempted to slip away. He knew that, even if he _did_ manage to escape with the child…what then? At least here, she had a home, shelter, and food… Alone in the countryside, however, she would not last very long. So Tash remained patient and waited. His unit hadn't seen any fighting since they'd been stationed in Senaki, and so there was little cause for alarm…but that was going to change any minute. Tash could feel it in his gut; trouble was on the way.

Tash took a seat on the floor near the fireplace, watching as the two-year-old girl played the ukulele, her fingers jumping from string to string with a skill far beyond her age. She played through the rest of _Korobeiniki_ with no difficulty at all. And when she finished the Russian folk song, she began to improvise, weaving her own tune from the muted tones of the tiny instrument. The rest of the men in the room had fallen silent as they listened.

Then, after a couple hours, the two-year-old suddenly stopped playing. The final note from the ukulele hung in the air momentarily, and the girl looked up at the ceiling, her eyes wide, as if she were listening to something. Tash's spine had stiffened as he, too, looked sharply up at the ceiling. The other men murmured to each other, unsure of what was happening.

Then the two-year-old looked over to Tash and spoke the first word she'd ever spoken that hadn't been some form of profanity. "_Beda._" It was Russian for _trouble_. Trouble, misfortune, disaster; that general idea.

As for Tash, he'd just heard many noises that almost reminded him of muffled hammer blows. There was only one thing that sound could be…

Alarms began to wail all throughout the town of Senaki. The loyalist militia was under attack… And barely seconds after the alarms were heard, the barrage of artillery that the Tash and the two-year-old had heard came thundering down upon the outskirts of town. The men all leapt to their feet, grabbing their weapons and gear, the sergeant shouting orders as he got the squad outside.

Tash hurried over to the fireplace and picked up the two-year-old, who refused to let go of her ukulele. His sergeant blocked him from leaving the room, however, demanding that he leave the girl behind and join the fighting at the outskirts of town. Tash tried to argue, stating that the girl had to be taken to safety first, but the sergeant was having none of it. Fighting came first, babysitting came second—if the government forces overran the town, she was as good as dead, anyway.

When Tash refused to leave the girl, the sergeant drew his sidearm and aimed it directly at the sixteen-year-old's face, shouting at him to put the two-year-old down. If he refused to comply, the sergeant would shoot him on the spot.

Tash was torn, and he honestly had no idea what he would have done next. Luckily, he never had to find out. A shadowy figure dressed entirely in appropriate camouflage for this part of the countryside had been lying unseen not far from the house for the past twelve hours, watching the two-year-old carefully through a pair of binoculars. Seizing the opportunity to retrieve the child, the camouflaged person used the distraction of the government attack on Senaki and the ensuing chaos to slip down to the house and enter through the open door.

The camouflaged figure wielded a pistol, but did not use it. Instead, the figure clubbed the sergeant over the back of the head with it, immediately rendering him unconscious. The figure then aimed the pistol directly at Tash. "The child," the figure spoke English, gesturing at the two-year-old with her weapon. Tash was surprised to hear the figure's voice—she was a girl! And by the sound of her voice, she couldn't have been much older than him. And if that weren't surprising enough, her accent gave her away as an American. "She's all I came for. Hand her over, and no one else gets hurt."

Tash spun himself around, putting himself in between the stranger and the two-year-old. Luckily, he spoke English very well—his adoptive father had insisted that he learn the language in case he ever found himself in the West; English was much more useful there than Russian. And his adoptive father had not exactly wanted Tash to remain in eastern Europe for the rest of his life, under the shadow of the former Soviet Union.

"I've kept this girl safe for two years; what makes you think I'm about to let someone pointing a gun to my face simply walk away with her?" Tash shot back, eyeing his rifle that was leaning against the fireplace, wondering if he could reach it fast enough.

The girl with the pistol hesitated. Again, she'd been watching the house for the past twelve hours, and the two-year-old _had_ seemed to have some sort of connection with this disheveled Georgian teenager. Still… "If you claim to care about that girl so much, then tell me… Why keep her here, among militia fighters?"

"Look around you; this is a warzone!" Tash protested, gesturing all around him. "Even if I could have gotten the girl away from the fighting, where could we have gone? I have no money to arrange transport out of the country, no relatives to seek shelter with, no home… She would have died in the countryside if I hadn't brought her with me."

The girl with the pistol frowned, lowering her weapon a fraction, her tone softening just a little. "What's your name?" she asked.

"What does that matter to you?"

The girl resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "It doesn't matter to me. It matters to someone else. What is your name? And please stop thinking about grabbing your rifle; you'll die before you even make it one step."

Tash cleared his throat, swallowing loudly, unaware of how obvious his little glances over to his rifle had been. He decided that it was probably wisest to play this strange girl's game, for now. "My name is Tash."

This time, the girl _did_ roll her eyes. "I didn't ask for your nickname, I asked for your _name_. You're beginning to make me impatient."

"Alright, alright!" Tash raised his free hand, trying to keep the strange girl calm. "It's Tasha. Tasha Abramov."

That earned a round of surprised blinks from the pistol-wielding girl. "Did you say _Abramov?_" she asked.

"Yes, I absolutely did, and unless you are willing to take me with you, you had better shoot me right now, because there is no way I am letting this girl out of my sight." Tash heard the words pouring out of his mouth and was actually a little surprised that they were his own. He never thought he'd have it in him to stay brave with a gun pointed at his face.

Then the American girl lowered her pistol. She pulled down the scarf covering her face, and upon closer inspection Tash could see that she must have been wearing colored contacts, or something, because her irises were red. "You're lucky Skaianet sent _me_ instead of Galavis; she would've plugged you by now… Fine, you can come," the girl said to him, holstering her weapon. "There's someone I know who'd like to meet you… Don't try anything with me, either; remember, I'm your only shot right now of getting out of this country in one piece. But no matter what, the girl is of more importance than you or me. If you can't keep up, I will leave you behind; don't forget that."

"Well, when you put it like that, I do not think I will," Tash muttered, retrieving his rifle and following the American outside. With patience and good timing, they were able to easily get away from Senaki and into the lowlands, heading west, away from the fighting. Eventually, they would reach the Black Sea, where Skaianet would have transportation waiting for the American girl.

Once Senaki was safely behind them, the American girl relaxed enough to engage Tash in conversation once again. She held out a hand. "My name's Tarrant, by the way. Abigail Tarrant. You gave me your name, figure I should return the favor."

Tash shook the hand hesitantly, not really sure how he should react to the stranger.

The American girl then gestured to the two-year-old in Tash's arms. "And her? Don't tell me you all have been calling her _Guitar Girl _this whole time…"

"I named her Tamara," Tash replied. "It was my grandmother's name."

The American girl, Abigail, pursed her lips, scrutinizing the name. Then she said, "Tami sounds better. Stick with that." When the American caught Tash's questioning glance, she gave a little shrug. "Nicknames aren't _always_ bad, Tasha."


	44. ii Chapter 44: Flight

**WARNING: This chapter contains some offensive language. You'll know it when you see it. If you are young and innocent, be warned.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Forty-Four: Flight<span>

The young siblings held their breath as they heard the heavy footfalls overhead. They had come a very long way, but they still had a long way to go. To be caught now, after everything they had been through… If the siblings believed in anything at all, being caught this far north would snuff out that belief.

_Pennsylvania_.

The brother mouthed the word to himself in the dark. _Pen-sill-vain-yuh._ Odd name for a state. Meant something in Latin, apparently, and the only reason the brother knew that Latin existed was from a book he'd stolen from the Big House, back on the plantation. He and his sister had been taught their letters and numbers by the master's wife. They learned fast, and were able to read and write as well as white folks by the time they were five. They could talk like white folks, too, when they needed to…but they always reverted to their natural dialect when they were alone.

"You think they gonna find us in here, Graf?" the sister whispered to her brother.

"_Shh,_" Graf, the brother, hushed his sister. "They sure's hell gonna find us if you keep makin' sucha racket."

The sister's name was Tarana, though her brother always called her 'Tara' for short. She and Grafton, her brother, were not truly siblings. They had both been found in the wilderness as infants, each a continent and an ocean apart from the other. Tarana had been found deep in the western frontier by a party of trappers, who were in the mountains retrieving the beavers who'd fallen prey to their traps so that they could get their firs. Because of her dark skin, she was sold to a group of slavers in Tennessee, who then transported her to a slave auction in South Carolina, where she was sold a second time; this time, it was to a wealthy plantation owner.

Graf, on the other hand, had been found as an infant somewhere in West Africa, where he was taken to a nearby village and cared for. When he was four years old, his village was razed to the ground by a hostile tribe. As a child, he was lucky enough to evade death, but _not_ lucky enough to evade capture. He was taken to the nearest port, sold to an African slaver, and then to a white ship's captain. He was then transported across the Atlantic Ocean in horrifying conditions, surviving the voyage and arriving in South Carolina only to be marched to the nearest slave auction, where he was purchased by the very same plantation owner who had bought Tarana, four years before.

Graf and Tara first met in the master's house; Tarana had already been working there for a short time, and she was joined by the young Graf. They both grew up into adolescence as house slaves, a sibling-like bond eventually developing between them…that is, until Grafton was caught trying to steal food for several of the field hands whom he'd gradually befriended over the years. He was brutally whipped, forced to wear an iron mask and collar for a time, and put to work in the fields. He had been twelve years old.

Five years later, when Tara overhead the master discussing his plans to make her into a 'comfort girl', the die was cast. Grafton escaped the field hands' quarters, took his sister, and together they fled the plantation. That had been a month and a half ago, back in South Carolina. Now the siblings had left the South behind, entering Pennsylvania two weeks ago.

Unfortunately, while Pennsylvania was the first state they had reached that did not have slavery, there were still lots of slave hunters around—white men who hunted down runaways, returning them to their former masters for a reward. Four such men were upstairs, investigating a report that the farmer who owned the home was harboring runaways.

The siblings could hear the men arguing upstairs, their voices growing louder and louder. Eventually, there was the sound of a fist connecting with someone's jaw, followed by the thump of an unconscious body hitting the floor. Orders were given, and the siblings could hear the house upstairs being ransacked, torn apart. Obviously, these hunters believed there were escaped slaves hiding inside, and they weren't going to stop until they found them.

"You gonna use it, this time?" Tara asked her brother.

"Don' want to…" Graf murmured. Despite himself, however, he started to reach behind his back, his fingers brushing metal. He'd taken it from one of the previous houses he'd been sheltered in, and there had been several times when he'd come close to using it, but so far he hadn't, yet. It was probably only a matter of time, though.

"Might have to, this time…" Tara breathed, trying to stop herself from shaking as the hunters upstairs continued to tear apart the house.

"Only if we gots to, sis…only if we-"

Whatever Graf was going to say next was lost when the ceiling of the siblings' hidey-hole was torn away. A torch was lowered down through the house's floor, revealing the siblings in the firelight. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" The torch was withdrawn, revealing a bald man with small eyes and brown teeth. "Got a coupla runaway niggers in a hole, have we? Damn, you two just made my night!"

"_You find somethin' in there, Buck?_" one of the other men called out from another room.

"Yeah, I sure's hell did!" the man with the torch, Buck, exclaimed. "Got us a coupla niggers hidin' under the floor, boys! _Now,_" Buck turned his attention back to the siblings. "Y'all wanna come outta there real slow-like. No sudden movements, or nuthin'… I got one helluva trigger finger, and y'all don't wanna be testin' it! Now, you gonna tell me who your owner is, or are we gonna have to beat it outta ya?"

"Why don't I just write a letter to Satan with all the details, and he can give it to your inbred cracker ass _personally,_" Graf shot back in perfect English, before pulling the single-action Colt revolver out from the back of his pants and blowing a hole right through Buck's left eye. There were shouts of alarm from the other three men in the house, but Graf was already leaping out of the hidey-hole, pulling Tara out along with him.

A second man stepped into the room, expecting to berate Buck for shooting one of their prizes…only to find himself staring down the barrel of a Colt revolver. It was the last thing he ever saw. Graf fired the pistol, catching the second man right through his nose, spattering the wall behind with blood. The last two slave hunters burst into the room immediately afterwards, weapons drawn. Their undoing, however, proved to be their dead friends. In the moment's hesitation they spent gawking at the blood and the bodies of their two companions, surprised that they had been bested by a slave, Graf took one of them down with a well-aimed shot, but he was not fast enough to kill the last one before the hunter had him in his sights.

Graf looked down the barrel of the final slave hunter's pistol, but he refused to close his eyes. If this was the end, he was going to face it. He was ready to die in that moment…and so it was a bit of a surprise to him when the slave hunter gave a pained cry and crumpled forward, a deadly-sharp kitchen knife embedded in his chest.

Tara had taken the knife from the kitchen of this farmhouse before the farmer had hidden them away in the hidey-hole. She'd retrieved it from the makeshift pouch in her cloth pants when her brother shot Buck, waiting to strike only if Graf were in danger. She'd thrown it, catching the last slave hunter right in the heart. He died quickly, which was more than he deserved.

"Where'n hellfire'd you learn to do that, sis?" Graf exclaimed as Tara wrenched the knife free of the corpse that had just become its temporary sheath.

"Dunno." Tara shrugged. "Kinda jus'…jus' felt right. Instinctual."

Graf himself was somewhat taken aback at how easily he'd used the pistol. Not at the ease of killing those three white men—he could happily kill slave hunters for the rest of his days and not shed a tear—but at how easily he was able to handle the pistol itself. How easily he was able to aim and fire shots that were so accurate. He'd never used firearms in his life, but here he was, now, killing slave hunters with single shots; it was like it was ingrained within him.

"C'mon, sis, out the window!" Graf shattered the nearest window with his elbow, pausing only to snatch the deceased Buck's ammunition pouch. He took Tara by the hand, and the siblings leaped out the window, sprinting into the field that separated the farmhouse from the woods. Graf was able to spot three men on horseback as they crashed into the woods, but the horsemen were not giving chase.

That did not fill the siblings with confidence, either. They knew it would not be long before more hunters arrived. And with dead white folks in the area... They ran all through the night until they felt like they could run no more…and then they _continued_ to run. They crashed through shrubbery and foliage, wincing as they were scratched by brambles and tree branches. Once or twice, they had to sprint across a road, but it was late at night, so there wasn't anyone to see them.

Finally, after they had been running for several hours, the siblings had to stop.

"Go on, sis, you get some rest, you hear?" Graf managed to say between breaths. He leaned back against a tree and pulled out the revolver, using their respite as his chance to reload it. "They's gonna have dogs after us. An' now that we done killed four of 'em, they's gonna be lookin' harder than ever. So get some rest."

"They come, and we shoots them, too," Tara declared defiantly as she sank down to the ground, resting back against a tree and taking several deep breaths, allowing herself to drift off to sleep.

"That'd be a might difficult with only four shots, sis."

"What you talkin' 'bout, field boy; that pistol got six shots. I still know my numbers!"

"_Four_ shots, sis," Graf did not change his stance, dolefully meeting his sister's questioning gaze. "I ain't goin' back to no plantation, and I ain't lettin' _you_ go back to no plantation neither. Them last two shots is for us."

Tara wisely decided to close her eyes and go to sleep. Graf remained on watch, fighting against his weariness. He didn't have much desire to sleep, anyway; yes, he was tired, but he was also weary of having the same dream he'd been having since his childhood. Tara had the same dream as well, and it was one of the reasons why they'd stuck together so much during their time on the plantation.

The dream always started with Graf running through a misty forest. He never knew what he was running from or why; only that he had to keep moving. Then there would be a flash of light from the sky, illuminating a mountain not too far up ahead. Graf would know that he had to reach that mountain, and he would run faster…but it was as if the mountain was taunting him, because he was never able to get any closer to it.

Graf gnashed his teeth in frustration, pouring every last bit of energy he had into his legs. He had to reach that mountain. If he did not, then all would be lost. No, failure was not an option…

_Wait_…

Graf's eyes flew open, and he sprang to his feet. It was dawn; he'd fallen asleep for several hours, and now he'd possibly killed both himself and his sister. In the near distance, he could hear what was probably the absolute worst sound an escaped slave could ever hear: the howling of dogs. The boy cursed himself in just about every way he knew how as he hurried over to his sister and shook her awake.

"Get up, Tara, get up!" the brother screamed. "They onto us, we gotta move!"

Tara was on her feet and running alongside her brother within two seconds. She had been on the run for over a month; being on guard and ready to flee at the drop of a pin had turned her into an incredibly light sleeper. She ran alongside her brother, effortlessly matching his speed. They leaped over tree roots, dodged rocks, ducked under low-hanging tree limbs, and even splashed through a couple creeks at one point.

It was after crossing the creeks that Graf saw it. The sun had already risen a few minutes ago—the siblings could see its rays illuminating the treetops…but they were still running in the shadows. The trees they were sprinting through were still dark. That was because the sunlight was blocked. After they crossed the creeks, Graf was beginning to despair; the howling of the dogs was getting closer, and he was even starting to hear the shouts of the slave hunters who owned those dogs.

Now that they'd killed white folks, Graf wasn't even sure they'd be taken back to the plantation. They'd more likely be strung up on one of these trees and left to hang until their feet stopped kicking—and even then, probably only after getting flogged until their backs peeled off. But then Graf looked up to the sky, and saw it…

The sun finally revealed itself, cresting over the peak of a small mountain. The mountain itself was silhouetted, but Graf recognized it… Recognized the shape, the trees that covered it, the birds that fluttered in the sky over it… How fortunate those birds were to be born birds; able to fly, not bound to the earth…the ultimate symbol of freedom.

But the sight of the mountain filled Graf with a newfound surge of strength. It was the mountain from his and Tara's dreams. Though he could not explain how or why, he knew that they were meant to go there.

"Grafton, you see that?" Tara called over to her brother. "That there mountain? That looks damn well like-"

"Yeah, I know!" Graf shouted back. "We gotta get to that mountain, sis!"

The mountain was less than a mile away, but the dogs pursuing the siblings were moving swiftly. When they reached the mountain, it would not be very long before the slavers caught up with them. But they ran anyway. What on earth did they have to lose? Nothing at all.

Unfortunately, climbing the mountain from the direction which the siblings were coming from would have been too difficult, considering their time restraints. Its western face comprised mostly of steep, unstable, rocky slopes. So, when they neared the mountain, Graf saw that they'd have to go around if they wanted to make it to the top. Brother and sister sprinted up the lower slopes that led up to the mountain, ignoring their burning lungs, their throbbing legs. They ran like the Devil himself was at their heels—which, in a way, he was.

But when they actually reached the mountain, made their way around to the south side of it, which was much easier to climb than the western face… Both Graf and Tara realized that the mountain itself would not be their salvation. It was what the mountain was _hiding_ that would save them.

On the other side of the mountain was a giant lake of clear, sparkling blue water. A thin layer of mist hung low over the surface, and fish could sometimes be spotted hopping out of the water. It was like an oasis of calm in the raging sea of chaos and fear that the siblings had been navigating their way through for the past month and a half.

And in the center of the lake… _Temple_ would be the best word to describe it. It was a very tall, four-sided stone structure. The largest building Graf had ever seen was the Big House on the plantation, but this temple was many times the size of that. It almost reminded Graf of the drawings of those strange stone buildings down in Mexico…_pyramids,_ he think they'd been called. There was a dark, shadowy entrance to the interior of the temple, close to the very top, as well as a steep flight of stone steps carved into the front side of the temple leading up to that entrance. Attached to the side of the temple was a tall stone pillar with a flat, circular top, capped by a large stone sphere…and attached to _that_ was a second, miniature version of that pillar with a smaller stone sphere of its own, almost like a moon orbiting its planet.

Surrounding the temple was a circle of eight more pillars, each of them also capped with large spheres of stone. They were all equidistant from the temple in the center of the lake, as well as equally spaced from each other. And the final two stone pillars rested on the shore of the lake—a larger pillar with a miniature one attached to it, just like the ones right next to the central temple.

But perhaps the most curious thing about the temple was the giant statue that rested on the very top. It was a massive frog, perched as if about to leap across the lake onto the shore. Graf wondered why anyone would build such a large temple to a frog; in the end, however, he did not give it too much thought.

Though neither of them gave their desires voice, both siblings inexplicably knew that they had to reach that temple. And so they did not stand around gawking at the massive frog statue; they sprinted down the hillside, which took a much shorter amount of time than climbing it had. Then it was straight into the lake. Similar to how Tara had been able to throw her knife, and how Graf had been able to use the pistol, the siblings both found that they were able to keep themselves afloat in the water, even though neither of them had ever swum in their lives. It took them a few minutes to reach the center of the lake, pausing momentarily at one of the eight towers to catch their breaths.

The slavers had reached the shore of the lake by the time the siblings made it to the temple. The dogs were barking like crazy, but they would not enter the water. The slavers—a mob of over twenty men, both on foot and horseback, all of them still bearing torches—didn't have a boat, either…but it was strange. It was almost as if they could not see the temple; Graf could hear them calling out to one another, orders being given to search the area, even though Graf and Tara were in plain sight.

Graf, again, decided not to give it much thought. He had become a master at counting his blessings. He and Tara pulled themselves up the stone steps of the frog temple until they reached the entrance, taking one last look behind them before ducking inside. They walked through a short entrance hall. The stone had images carved into it…pictures of what looked like animals. Graf and Tara could pick out salamanders and lizards, cobra snakes, turtles, crocodiles…as well as several animals that they did not recognize.

The entrance opened up into a much larger chamber that took up the entire upper portion of the temple. The walls here, too, were covered with the stylized images of all those animals, but they no longer held the siblings' attention. What captivated them was the large, glowing lotus flower that rested on top of the central platform. It was a giant purple flower, and it shined with a radiance of its own. Right now, its petals were open, and there was a blindingly bright orb of white light that hung in the air over the flower, about as large as a small tree. It was not a harsh white light, though… Yes, it was difficult to look at directly, but it felt warm and comforting.

"What…what is this place, Graf?" Tara's voice was soft with awe as she beheld the glowing lotus flower that looked like it belonged in a dream. "What is this place?"

"Don't rightly know, sis…" Graf murmured. "But… I think we's s'posed to go into that light. I think we was meant to come here…"

Tara took a few steps closer to the white light above the open lotus flower, her curiosity getting the better of her, but still not quite able to overcome her ingrained sense of caution and fear of the unknown. "Yeah, I's gettin' that feelin' too… What you think'll happen if'n we go?"

"Don't rightly know," Graf repeated himself, his previous answer remaining unchanged. "Ain't nuthin' worse than stayin' here, though…"

"Truest words you ever spoke," Tara agreed. "C'mon… C'mon, Grafton, let's leave this place far behind. Don' know 'bout you, but I's ready to see someplace new."

Graf looked at his sister. Indigo eyes met blue. He slipped his hand into hers and took the first step up onto the central platform, helping her up. Then he turned back to face the pulsating white light, taking a deep breath. Then, together, the siblings stepped forward into the white light. It enveloped them, and they watched as the petals of the giant purple lotus grew in size and closed over their heads.

Then, the moment the petals closed, they peeled themselves open once again and shrank back to the lotus's normal size. The whole thing had taken no time at all, and Graf realized that the lotus flower hadn't actually grown in size when they stepped in…it was he and his sister who had shrunk. But now they were back to normal.

They had not been taken anywhere new, like they'd been hoping for… They were still inside the interior of the frog temple. Nothing had changed…except for one thing.

A young woman, probably in her late twenties, was sitting cross-legged in front of the giant lotus flower, clad in a simple brown dress that was unlike anything the siblings had ever seen. She had deeply tanned skin, and had a Spanish look to her. This was confirmed by her first words to the two runaway slaves.

"_Bienvenido, amigos!_" The Spanish woman rose to her feet to greet the new arrivals. "_Senor_ Twymann, _Senorita_ Gibbons… I can't pretend to know what you have gone through to get here, _pero_ I'm glad that you succeeded. You're safe now."

Graf blinked several times, stepping down from the lotus, looking around the room hesitantly. "What…what just… Who…?"

"Ah, _lo siento,_ you are obviously a little confused," the Spanish woman cleared her throat, stepping forward and holding a hand out to Tara, helping her down from the platform. "My name is Chela Arevalo, and I am a friend. You and your sister have been inside a time portal for… Eh… You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Nome, we don't," Graf shook his head.

"Talkin' straight-up nonsense, you is," Tara agreed.

"_Si,_ forgive me, allow me to try and explain," the Spanish woman, Chela Arevalo, went on. "Think of it this way; you have just stepped through a _puerta,_ a door. Only, this door does not lead to different rooms. This door leads to different _times_. 'Twymann' and 'Gibbons' are the surnames of the identifications I have arranged for you both—I have kept your first names the same for simplicity's sake... It is not as if you are still being hunted!"

The siblings still weren't able to understand very much of what Chela Arevalo was saying, but now that she was making a conscious effort to simplify her explanations, they were able to get more of an idea. The stranger decided to change tack. "For you, the lotus closed and then opened again instantaneously, _si?_" the Spanish woman asked.

"Yes'm," Tara nodded. "Sure did."

"Well, if you had been standing _outside_ of the lotus when you walked into it…over a hundred years would have passed before it opened again," Chela Arevalo clarified. "A lot has changed since the time you came from."

"You sayin' we's in the...in the _future,_ ma'am?" Graf asked, still unable to wrap his mind around what the Spanish woman was telling them.

"Yes, that's the long and short of it." Chela Arevalo smiled. "I know it is hard to believe…and while things here are by no means perfect, yet… I believe you will find it a might better than the 19th Century."

"Well, then… What year is it?" Tara asked the next question on both siblings' minds.

"1949."


	45. ii Chapter 45: Number Eight

Chapter Forty-Five: Number Eight

Abigail Tarrant did not like the heat. She preferred colder weather—it was easier to warm yourself up in the cold than it was to cool yourself down in the heat. And so, if one were ever to ask Abigail if she liked the weather down in Arizona, the answer would have been absolutely, positively, irrevocably, a thousand times…_no_.

Right now, she was sitting in a parked jeep at the top of a steep, sandy hill. The trees grew in patches and clumps, but not thickly enough for this to be considered a wooded area. About twenty or thirty miles to the east was the city of Nogales. Technically, there were two separate cities that shared the same name; they were just separated by the Mexico-United States border.

Sitting in the passenger seat was an eighty-five-year-old woman with deeply tanned, wrinkled skin. She looked like a quintessential grandmother, complete with thick-rimmed glasses. She had a round face and kind eyes that, upon closer inspection, possessed orange irises. She was Chela Arevalo, founder and CEO of Skaianet, one of the largest technology companies in the world.

Both women were scanning the arid, hilly expanses to the south with their binoculars.

"Why did your friend have to come during the afternoon?" Abigail grumbled, slowly sweeping her magnified gaze across one of the more distant ridges. "It's way too fucking hot out here, pardon my French."

"Consider your French pardoned." Miss Arevalo gave the young woman a sidelong glance. "You really do not like the heat, dear? I had you pegged as a summer person."

"_Winter,_" Abigail corrected her employer and friend. "Summer's nice, don't get me wrong…but I'd rather wear a jacket to warm myself up than have to strip naked to cool myself down."

"Well, you certainly shall not be stripping naked here, not while you're in a company jeep. That would be bad press."

"Now you understand why I prefer winter," Abigail grunted. "Your friend could've at least tried to run the border during the night…then I wouldn't have to go through the trouble of finding a babysitter to watch my brother while he's still awake. It's much easier when he's sleeping."

Miss Arevalo arched an eyebrow, lowering her binoculars. "Trouble on the homefront? Anything I can help with?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Abigail shook her head, moving her gaze over to another ridge. Then she hesitated, lowering the binoculars a tad. "Well… I mean, unless you know a way to make my brother stop trying to stab his babysitters. That'd be a help."

Miss Arevalo let out a peal of laughter, the laughter lines around her eyes becoming more pronounced. "Teaching your brother to play with knives, are you? Tarana would be proud."

"Oh, she is." Abigail raised her binoculars once more. "We still have dinner on Saturdays. She's like his knife grandma. She taught me when I grew up, and now I teach my brother…so then she spoils him. Gives him a sharpening kit, a leather sheath, a giant bag of skittles… Probably would've given him a Bowie if he didn't already have one. Actually tried to get him a genuine katana for his first birthday, but I told her _no_. No swords in my house."

"_Si,_ no swords. Just knives?" Miss Arevalo did her best to hide her smile.

"Just knives," Abigail echoed. "No swords, just knives. Don't want him to get hurt."

"Well, honey, I just think he's the cutest thing—you should really bring your brother to work more often. I love watching him go after the Human Resources personnel."

That got another grunt from Abigail. "Yeah, you think it's cute until _you're_ the one who has to find a babysitter who doesn't mind getting sliced a couple times. I have to pay quadruple what I used to, now, just to keep the usual people from hanging up their phones the moment they hear my voice! Honestly, I have no idea how Tarana dealt with me when I pulled crap like that with her…"

"I believe she would slap you, dear."

"Ah…yeah, that's right, she would… I suppose that worked…" Abigail let her voice trail off and shrugged. "Doesn't help me, really; I could never slap him even if I wanted to…"

"Would you like my advice?" Chela Arevalo asked, still hiding her smile, knowing already that Abigail would want to hear it. When Abigail gave her a nod, the old woman continued. "You may be teaching _tu_ _hermano_ how to use knives, but he doesn't understand what it's like to be on the receiving end. And that's something you'd best teach him while he's still young. The lessons you teach him while he's this young are the ones that will never leave him."

Abigail blinked several times. "Are you telling me to stab my little brother?"

That got another laugh from the old Spanish woman. "Dear me, if only it were that easy!" she chuckled. "But what I would recommend is, in the future, when you strife with your little force of nature…do not hold back quite so much! Don't be afraid to make him feel a little pain—he has to learn that knives are not toys."

"Okay, so you don't want me to stab my little brother; you just want me to cut him."

"Or let him keep on trying to stab your babysitters—it's your choice!" Miss Arevalo finally stopped hiding her smile, reaching up and adjusting her glasses. "Either way, he needs some sort of physical deterrent. Kids these days… They do away with the belt and the hickory switch, and now the young ones are growing up soft. And one thing you do not want is a soft child who likes knives."

This time, it was Abigail who burst out into laughter. She had to put her binoculars down and wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just… I just can't believe you actually just said _kids these days_… That's probably the most stereotypical thing an old person could ever say!"

"Well, then maybe when I give you your pink slip for making fun of me, I can tell you all about how I walked uphill both ways when I went to school," Miss Arevalo fired right back. One could say many things about the old Spanish woman, but never that she did not have a tongue that could slice through metal.

"Oh, c'mon, we both know you would never fire me."

"Maybe not… But still." Miss Arevalo gave a slight shrug, her smile widening. "Pretending like I might makes me feel like I still have the power!"

The two women, young and old, continued to sit in the jeep, speaking until they fell back into silence, passing the time by observing Mexico to the south, still waiting for Chela's friend to arrive. Unlike Abigail, Miss Arevalo did not mind the heat. She was unsure of where she had been born—and by 'born', of course, she means she had no idea where the meteorite she'd entered this world on as an infant had landed—but she'd been raised in Seville, which was located in the Andalusian autonomous community in the south of Spain. Seville had hot, dry summers that could sometimes reach unreasonable temperatures; Miss Arevalo was no stranger to heat.

"You gonna tell me anything about your friend?" Abigail broke the silence after another few minutes of watching the hills across the border.

"His name is Andrés Carrero," Miss Arevalo replied. "He was a soldier. Perhaps he would have been my husband, had he not fought for Franco in the civil war. My adoptive parents were taken in one of the Nationalists' purges, and I was forced to flee to the South of France—ah… There I go again, turning this into my story! Andrés was disillusioned from what he was forced to do in the war, so he ended up in Mexico. To my knowledge, he bought a farm and spent the rest of his days until now fighting off the cartels who try to extort him…though I am glad he is coming to the States. He is getting old, and it would only be a matter of time before he lost his head. His home was no place for a child."

"So how many will that be, then? Seven?" Abigail asked. "One more, is it?"

"No, Andrés's child will be the last of the eight," Miss Arevalo corrected the younger, red-eyed woman.

Abigail frowned. "I thought we were only up to seven… Seven, right? There's my brother, and then there's Tash Abramov's sister—Tami, the one I got from Georgia. And then there's Cruz, your grandson… There's Theo, Tarana's grandson; and there's Grafton's granddaughter…Gwen, I think her name is?" Abigail held up a new finger for each kid she remembered. She was up to five. "There's the one from Somalia; Cassandra, Galavis's daughter—now there's an image for you, Cloe Galavis being Mom. And… Yeah, that just leaves your friend in Mexico. That's seven."

"The eighth's name is Gino Caiazzo," Miss Arevalo clarified. "I won't go into the details of how his father found his meteorite—it was in upstate California, and there was a lot of LSD involved. They are currently living in New York. Yonkers, to be precise, just north of the city."

Abigail's brow furrowed in a frown when she learned this. "One of our eight space kids is living in New York? I thought the whole idea was to bring them all to Pennsylvania so they'd be together. What're they doing in New York?"

"It was easier to bring the others to Pennsylvania because they really did not have much of a choice," Miss Arevalo sighed. "I gave Miss Galavis a home here when she emigrated from Israel; after her failure to land a steady career, she was in no position to refuse me. Mister Abramov was not a US citizen until I arranged for it; I could have had him deported back to Georgia if he did not cooperate. Then our friends Grafton and Tarana arrive here from 1843; they were runaway slaves, for heaven's sake, and I was offering them a new life. They had nowhere else to go." Miss Arevalo paused for a moment to rub a dirty spot from one of the binocular lenses. "And you, Abby dear, were lucky enough to be raised by Tarana in Pennsylvania. But Mister Caiazzo, unfortunately, has no good reason to relocate, yet…but as his son grows up and begins school, he will find that his current job doesn't pay quite as much as he needs. And then I will step in."

"Quite the manipulator," Abigail remarked. "Any other hidden talents you have that I should know about?"

"They wouldn't exactly be 'hidden talents' if I told you what they were, now, would they?"

"Fair enough."

The two women lapsed back into a silence. This time, however, it was not broken by more conversation; it was broken by the arrival of Chela Arevalo's friend. Abigail spotted the arrivals first—a small group of perhaps a dozen men and women trudging their way through the hills towards the American border. Within ten or so minutes of spotting them, Abigail and Miss Arevalo watched them cross over into the United States.

That was when Abigail's attention was diverted by the sound of truck engines. She snapped her gaze over to the source of the sound. "_Fuckin' god damn it_…" She swore under her breath, lowering her binoculars and turning to Miss Arevalo. "Your friend's about to have company."

Miss Arevalo swiveled her gaze over to the trucks that were approaching the illegals. They were Dodge pickups, sporting little American flags. But Miss Arevalo was looking for marks on the vehicles that would identify them as Immigration Police or Border Patrol…but she could see none. "They're volunteers," the old woman declared. "That makes this a bit easier… Abby, dear, can you drive us down there and handle this?"

Abigail fired up the engine, putting the jeep into gear. The vehicle kicked up a small cloud of dust as the wheels found purchase and sent the jeep careening down the hillside into the valley below. Abigail and Miss Arevalo reached the group of Mexicans about a minute or two after they were stopped by the border volunteers.

There were three Dodge pickups, and the loudmouthed men who'd been riding in them were in the process of herding all the illegals into the tight semicircle of trucks. They were armed with shotguns and pistols, and a couple of them were even wearing cowboy hats. Abigail suppressed a sigh; this was going to get interesting.

Abigail brought the jeep screeching to a halt right next to the border volunteers' vehicles. The men from the trucks were hollering questions at them, but Abigail ignored them.

"Andrés!" Miss Arevalo took a moment to climb out of the jeep, making her way over to one of the illegals.

Andrés Carrero was a tall man. He was actually wearing one of those colorful ponchos that Abigail thought existed only on movies and stereotypical jokes. He had a bristly gray mustache and grayish-white hair that had grown wispy and thin up top. And although he was a good way into his eighties, Abigail got the feeling from looking at him that she wouldn't want to get into a fight with the old man. He had a spry look to him, and the way he walked betrayed his hidden vitality. Of course, one would have to look for it to see it.

The last distinctive thing about him was the three-year-old, cyan-eyed girl who was holding onto his back. She had olive skin and black hair.

"Chel, _como está?_" Andrés gave Miss Arevalo a broad grin as they embraced.

Abigail climbed out of the car and dealt with the border volunteers while the two old friends engaged each other in a conversation in rapidfire Spanish. Finally, after getting caught up with each other as much as they could within thirty seconds, they dropped back into English and started moving back to the jeep, paying no attention to the border volunteers' shouts and protests, which were gradually rising in volume and severity, as well as profanity content.

"What's the girl's name?" Miss Arevalo asked her old friend.

"I named her Anna," Andrés replied, hoisting the three-year-old into the backseat of the jeep. "And _madre de dios,_ you should have seen the racket she would stir up when those cartel _maricones_ would come to the farm. Last time they bothered me, they ran off because she nearly shot off their leader's _cojones_."

That got two raised eyebrow from Miss Arevalo. "Firearms at such a young age? You have little Anna using _pistolas?_"

"_Pistolas?_ Oh, heavens no," Andrés chuckled. "She was using a fifty-cal machinegun! The cartel _maricones_ brought a tank, you see. Little Anna had to man the machinegun while I ran out and activated the mines. And don't even get me started about what happened when the helicopters showed up..."

"_Hey!_" It was one of the border volunteers—a portly man with scraggly facial hair and a broad, white Stetson hat. As Abigail turned away to return to the jeep, he'd gripped his shotgun threateningly, stepping forward. "Now, you can't just drive away with those illegals in the back! Y'all are waitin' right here until the authorities arrive!"

Abigail inhaled slowly through her nose, releasing it through her mouth. "Can I stab this one, Chela?" she asked Miss Arevalo. "Please?"

"Certainly not," the old woman replied. "Can you imagine the paperwork I would have to go through to keep you out of jail if you stabbed that man? No knives."

"Hey, now, I'm talkin' to ya!" Cowboy Hat cocked his shotgun, aiming it squarely at Abigail.

Abigail took another deep breath, slowly stepping away from the jeep and turning around to face the man in the cowboy hat. "Excuse me, sir… I may be due for a visit to the eye doctor's, so clarify for me… Did you just aim your shotgun at me?"

"Yeah, I sure did." Cowboy Hat nodded. "Now, take the keys outta the ignition, and-"

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Abigail interrupted. Then, before Cowboy Hat could even blink, Abigail was in his face, ripping the weapon from his grasp. She twisted away before he could retaliate, bringing the weapon clubbing into the back of one of the other volunteers' heads. The rest of the volunteers all shouted in alarm, raising weapons of their own, but they were never able to draw a bead on Abigail. She wove herself between them like a rogue shadow, striking them in the painful places of their bodies that they never thought of nor bothered to protect.

Within ten seconds, all the men who'd ridden in on the pickup trucks were lying in the dirt, many of them snoring, with the exception of Cowboy Hat. Abigail walked up to the portly man last and held out the shotgun, returning the weapon to its owner. "Don't ever point a weapon at me unless you're gonna use it," Abigail hissed. Then she dropped the man with a right hook to the jaw. He went down like a marionette with its strings cut.

Abigail climbed back into the jeep, starting up the engine, ignoring the deep throbbing pain in her knuckles. Before she drove off, she took note of the ten illegal immigrants who were still huddled together by the trucks. They'd watched this strange, pale, black-haired woman effortlessly take down the men who'd detained them, and they weren't quite sure how to react.

"If I were you, I'd start running right about now," Abigail advised the dumbfounded Mexicans. "Or you can hitch a ride back south with the immigration police. Your choice." And with that, Abigail pounded the gas pedal, sending the jeep speeding back the way it had come. When she noticed Miss Arevalo's look of disapproval out of the corner of her eye, she gave a slight shrug. "What, I didn't _stab_ them…"

In the backseat, Andrés rumbled with a round of deep, hearty laughter. "This one, Chel, this one's a keeper! What's your name, _chiquita?_"

"Abigail," the young woman grunted in reply. "Don't point guns at me."

* * *

><p><strong>END OF INTERMISSION II<strong>


	46. V Chapter 46: First Entry

**Act V: Concerning The Other Seven**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Forty-Six: First Entry<span>

Theo Gibbons still felt high when he woke up, Sunday afternoon. It had been his very first time smoking, after all, so it was only natural for him to feel an 'afterglow', if you will, to the effects of the marijuana, which had long since worn off.

He could see why his friends enjoyed smoking, now, though he would be lying if he said he enjoyed it as much as the others did. Not to say that he didn't have a fun time—last night had been one of the best nights he'd had in a while—but the feeling that he got from marijuana was a bit too manic for his taste. That, and it didn't exactly mix well with his asthma. His chest had gotten really tight, last night, prompting him to abstain from smoking any further and get some sleep.

_Speaking of which…_

Theo retrieved one of his inhalers from his backpack. He had two different kinds of inhalers—one of them had a preventative drug that would, true to its name, help prevent asthma symptoms from arising. The other had a relief drug that would be taken to—you guessed it—relieve symptoms in the middle of an attack. Right now, Theo took the former.

After taking a puff from his inhaler, Theo shook the last of the weariness from his body. He also felt kind of sore—he'd passed out on a stone floor, after all. He wasn't too bent out of shape over it, though, because while the Frog Temple was lacking a little in the 'comfortable floor' department, it was incredibly warm inside; warmer, even, than Cruz's house.

Theo wondered for a moment where the others had gotten to, but only for a moment. When he'd passed out, the others had all been sitting in a circle in front of the giant, glowing purple lotus flower that dominated the center of the Frog Temple's upper chamber. Now, they had simply migrated into the entrance hall, sitting just far enough inside so that they wouldn't get wet from the downpour outside. Cruz was passing a joint over to Gwen, and Tami was lazily improvising a tune on her ukulele.

"_April showers_…" Theo murmured to himself, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the daylight, watching the thundershowers outside.

"Hey, hey, fellas! Fuckin' Sleeping Beauty's awake!" Gino was the first one to notice Theo's arrival.

"Welcome back to the land of the waking, _amigo!_" Cruz grinned, smoke seeping from his mouth and nose as he spoke. "Care to join?"

"Naw, man, I'm good for today," Theo chuckled, easing himself into the circle. "I'm still feeling it."

"You sure?" Cruz got the joint back from Gwen, holding it out enticingly to Theo. "_Senor_ Joint would love to make a new friend; he's very social like that!"

"C'mon, Cruz, you been smokin' so long you've forgotten how it feels your first time." Gwen plucked the joint from Cruz's hand, passing it over to Gino. "Theo's still feeling an afterglow!"

"He's feeling _karma,_" Adam grunted when the joint was passed to him. He took a moderate hit, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling. "He passed out like a fucking baby because he stole my phone."

"Jesus Christ, Adam, will you drop it?" Tami lowered her ukulele after strumming a very discordant note. "We all know you never would've had the balls to ask Cass out yourself; you should be thanking Theo in every language you know. Then learn a couple new languages so you can thank him some more."

Adam lapsed back into silence. Tami returned to her ukulele, giving Theo a surreptitious wink. Theo decided to remain silent—Adam was his best friend, but Theo knew him well enough to know that when he got into one of his moods, it was best to just let him steam until he cooled off. Adam wasn't _actually_ pissed off that Theo had stolen his phone and asked Cass Galavis out for him…he just loathed surprises. And that had been quite a surprise.

The day was beginning to draw into the evening when people made their way from the Frog Temple back to Cruz's house and started to leave. After that last joint, the others abstained from smoking any more—with the exception of Cruz, of course. Cruz was smoking almost every time Theo saw him, so that was nothing new. But almost everyone else had to drive home, so they wanted to sober up a bit before hitting the road.

Gino and Gwen had both driven to Cruz's, and they took off in their respective cars by six o'clock. Tami was staying over at Cruz's until Monday—they both went to Downingtown West, so she would just hitch a ride to school with Cruz and go home from there. Theo didn't know what they'd be doing tonight, but at the same time he didn't really _want_ to know. Probably something involving some kind of hallucinogenic drug.

After saying goodbye to Cruz—who gave Theo a long, heartfelt hug; proud of him for finally popping his weed cherry—Theo packed up all his stuff into his backpack and headed outside with Adam, who was his ride home.

"See you next weekend, man?" Cruz asked Adam as he said goodbye. "Tami and I were thinking 'bout visiting Philly, Friday night. You in?"

"Should be able to," Adam replied. "Just, uh… I mean, I'll have to tell my Sis that I'll just be chilling here for the weekend; no way in hell she'd let me go to the city. Other than that, I'm down."

"Far out, man!" Cruz grinned, stepping back into his house. "See you then!"

"Later Cruz," Theo waved goodbye.

"Bye, you dirty hippie!" Adam chuckled, producing his car keys and unlocking Little Blue. Theo climbed into the passenger seat while Adam started the car. It was still raining pretty hard, and the evening had gotten kind of chilly, so Adam turned on the heated seats and got the windshield wipers running. He flicked on the headlights and pulled into Cruz's driveway, heading out onto the back roads. He drove slowly—the roads back in the woods could get treacherous in the rain.

"I'm still pissed you took my phone and pulled that shit," Adam said to Theo as he neared the onramp to the Route 30 bypass, putting on his turn signal. "But, uh… Well, I guess Tami had a point. And I _do_ have a date with Cass, now, because of it, so…uh… _Thanks._ Thank you. For doing that. Yeah."

Theo watched his best friend try to say something heartfelt for a change, trying really hard not to regress into laughter. "Try not to get a hernia, there," he snickered. "I know letting other people see that you have emotions causes you physical pain, dude; take it easy!"

Adam let a faint smile reach his face. "See, this is why we're friends."

The two friends didn't say much as Little Blue cruised down the bypass. Adam hit the radio and turned it to station 89.3; it was a station that was broadcast from Temple University, and it would play jazz after six o'clock PM. Jazz, Theo found, was a kind of music that went well with just about anything. Especially rain.

It wasn't until Adam got off the bypass and onto Route 113 that he broke the near-silence once more. "So… Do you think she likes me? Cass, I mean."

"Thanks for specifying; I thought you were talking about Natalie Portman," Theo remarked dryly.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Natalie Portman, yeah. You hear she got a Golden Globe for Best Leading Actress in _Go Fuck Yourself?_ C'mon, I'm being serious."

"What, I can't be the sarcastic asshole just once?"

"No, that's my thing." Adam shook his head. "You're the nice one; that's _your_ thing."

"Well, then being dumb must be your thing too, because that's a dumb question!" Theo maintained. "God only knows what Cass sees in you, but she wouldn't have freaking _agreed to go out with you_ if she didn't like you!"

"Girls don't like people the way guys do, bro; it's not so cut-and-dry!" Adam protested, determined not to be bested in this particular verbal duel by his friend. "They think the hell out of it! Okay, maybe I should've worded myself better—I wasn't expecting you to act like me! But…seriously. Does she, like… I mean, I know for a fact she doesn't wanna go out with me 'cuz she thinks I'm hot—because, let's be honest, I'm not. People always think I'm fucking cute, not hot. And even if I _was_ hot, that's not something Cass would go for; she's not that kind of person. So does she think I'm, what…cool? Interesting? Is it because she thinks I'm funny, or something?"

_I guess girls aren't the only ones who overthink things,_ Theo thought to himself. He didn't say this out loud, though. Instead, to Adam, he said, "Why don't you go on a date with her…and find out yourself?"

Adam released a low, grumbly sigh. "Have I ever mentioned how much I'd love to slap you, right now?"

"Nope, you've been mum on that."

"Well, it's okay, 'cuz I'm not going to. You're lucky I'm the nice one."

Theo allowed himself a small chuckle, lapsing back into silence. Sure, Adam usually won their verbal jousts, but Theo had the monopoly on physical strength. More often than not, Theo would grow tired of Adam's constant ability to come up with a withering comeback, and he'd end the argument by putting his best friend in a headlock until he cried uncle. Unfortunately, Adam was driving at the moment, so there was a limit on the number of things Theo could do.

By quarter of seven, Adam was turning into Liongate—the community where Theo lived. There were two entrances; the road that ran through Liongate looped back around and returned to Route 113. And throughout this loop were various turnoffs that led to all the myriad parking lots, where the residents would park their cars.

Adam dropped Theo off at the community building. "You sure you don't want me to drop you off at your parking lot?" Adam asked his friend. "It's raining pretty hard, dude; it's no trouble."

"Naw, dude, I'm good." Theo shrugged on his backpack and opened the passenger door, stepping outside into the rain. "It's just water; it ain't gonna kill me!"

"Okay… See you tomorrow, then."

"Yep, see you eighth period! And let me know when you get Sburb in the mail; I'm dying to play it with you."

"Yeah, will do. And again, dude… Thanks."

Theo closed the passenger door and stepped back, watching Adam drive off into the rain. Then he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and started making his way into the parking lot which his house was on. The homes in Liongate consisted of row homes, not apartments—several smaller, separate houses within a larger superstructure. Theo's house was at the end of one of these row homes, so he had he bonus of having windows on three sides, as opposed to only two.

Theo stopped at the mailbox before going inside. He wasn't expecting to find anything—it was usually just junk mail, random magazines, bills for his Gran, etc. Not today, though. Today, he found a thick, nondescript brown envelope that had his name on it. He had a feeling what was inside, but was still somewhat apprehensive—it wasn't supposed to arrive until Monday, tomorrow.

Theo took the mail inside and laid it out on the coffee table. "Hey, Gran, I'm home!" he called out. "Gran?"

"_Boy, shut your mouth!_" A reply was shouted down from upstairs, muffled by the floor. "_I'm tryin' to sleep, up here!_"

"Love you too, Gran!"

"_Uh-huh!_"

Theo tore open the envelope and, lo and behold, out came two computer game discs. There was one disc for the server application, and another for the client. _Sburb had finally arrived_.

Theo could barely contain his excitement. He almost cheered at the top of his lungs before remembering that his Gran was trying to sleep, so he contained himself at the last possible instant, resulting in a noise that sounded like a strained squeak. He took the two discs and went straight up to his room on the second floor.

He had a small bed against the opposite wall. Next to the door, just on the left, was his computer desk. He also used that desk to do homework—when he wasn't rapidly finishing his homework in the class before it was due, that is. But the desk's primary use was simply a resting surface for Theo's computer, as well as his large Subject Delta figurine—a result of his Bioshock phase. Subject Delta was a Big Daddy, as well as the protagonist of Bioshock 2—which wasn't going to come out until February of next year, but Theo's Gran had managed to somehow find a figurine that had been made before the game's release. Part of the marketing campaign, Theo guessed.

Theo knew a tiny bit about Sburb—the result of Skaianet's first foray into the realm of gaming—but not anything useful. He didn't even really know what kind of game it could be considered to be, other than sandbox-style. There'd been nothing like it, before…and there would probably be nothing like it again. Theo could only hope that there was a single player mode, or something, because he knew for a fact that Adam wouldn't be getting it until tomorrow.

Theo looked at the server and client discs, unsure of which one he should choose. Ultimately, he decided to use the client disc—he didn't want to host anything, he just wanted to find a dedicated server, or whatever, and play. At least learn the basics of the game, so that he'd know what he was doing when he finally was able to play with Adam.

When he inserted the client disc, the computer screen turned black for a few moments. Then a small window appeared, with italicized text showing up as if it were being typed by an artificial intelligence.

_SBURB version 0.0.1_

_SKAIANET SYSTEMS INCORPORATED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._

_SBURB client is running._

_Searching for host…_

There weren't any other options, so it looked like there wasn't any single player. There also didn't seem to be anyone else in the area who had the game, yet, because Theo wasn't able to connect with any hosts. Then, as he was beginning to lose hope, the black loading screen was automatically minimized, and he noticed a flashing icon in the bottom corner of his screen. It was PalHassle…

* * *

><p><em>-gamblingTheorist began hassling turbulentGamer at 19:16-<em>

GT: Hey, Theo  
>GT: You got the new Skaianet game, didn't you<br>TG: Hi Gwen  
>TG: Yeah I just got it from the mail a couple minutes ago<br>TG: Wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow  
>TG: But hey no complaints right<br>GT: Okay, awesome  
>GT: Because I got it in the mail when I got home, too<br>GT: I loaded the server disc, and I've only been able to find one other client, and I'm pretty sure it's you  
>TG: You're probably right<br>TG: Give it a go  
>TG: If it's me can I call you<br>TG: I mean PalHassle is gonna get real annoying real fast if I have to keep minimizing the game every time we chat  
>GT: Yeah, I was thinking the same thing<br>TG: Aight awesome  
>TG: You can go ahead and connect<p>

_-gamblingTheorist is no longer hassling turbulentGamer-_

* * *

><p>Theo pulled the game back up, looked at the window. For a few seconds there was no change, but then…<p>

_A SBURB host user is attempting to connect with you._

_Client has established connection with host._

_Press [ENTER] when ready._

Theo gave a wide grin. "Alright…let's see where this goes." He pressed enter.

Then chaos ensued. Well, chaos on the computer screen—it's not like it pressing _enter_ ended the world, or anything. The black screen turned white, and a green loading bar appeared in the bottom. Then a trippy, geometric pattern of curved lines that looked like they'd been drawn with a spirograph appeared. The background began to change colors, too, constantly shifting and flashing. It reminded Theo of a kaleidoscope, in a way. Lot of colors, lots of patterns, lots of headaches.

Finally, after an incredibly flashy and elaborate loading sequence, the progress bar reached one-hundred-percent. The loading screen went away, and the client application closed, returning to the computer desktop. Theo frowned, searching for an icon, but he wasn't able to find one. He was about to access the computer's hard drive to search for the application file, so he could start it manually, when he was interrupted by his phone vibrating.

Theo picked up his phone and answered it. "Hi, Gwen!"

"_Hey, Theo,_" Gwen answered. "_You connected?_"

"Yeah, uh… It went through, but I don't know what to do next," Theo said. "The loading screen exited out, but there's nothing else happening, and I can't find where the application file was downloaded onto the computer."

"_You don't need to do anything, yet,_" Gwen informed Theo. "_I checked out a couple walkthroughs, and…well, it's hard for me to explain, but I kinda just know what to do. Follow my lead…_"

What happened next was almost enough to convince Theo that the weed he'd smoked last night had been laced with some sort of long-lasting hallucinogenic substance. That was the only explanation he could come up with when his room suddenly doubled in size. Everything was normal, and then, all of a sudden…_ BOOM!_ The wall of Theo's room that faced outside the house was suddenly dragged, all by itself, out far enough to double the length of the room. The floor and ceiling followed accordingly.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Theo shouted, nearly dropping his phone in shock. "What the…room…fucking… My fucking walls just… What the fuck!"

"_Relax, dude!_" Gwen tried to calm Theo down. "_It's just the revise tool. I'm gonna be dropping some machines in, and your room's too damn small!_"

Theo did not calm down, however. He kept on shouting until he felt the familiar tightness grip his chest. Panic started to worm its way into his mind as he found he was unable to breathe. He set down his phone and quickly rifled through the pockets of his jacket, whipping out his inhaler. He brought it to his lips and breathed in the relief drug—to Theo, it kind of tasted a little bit like eraser.

Bottom line, inhalers tasted like shit.

Immediately, the tightness in Theo's chest abated, and he was able to take full breaths once again. If his asthma were ever to have a silver lining, it would be that after relieving an attack, his head would always be really clear. The shock of watching his room suddenly, magically double in size had worn off, and he was able to talk to Gwen, again.

"Okay, I'm back… Sorry, my asthma started acting up," Theo apologized, holding his phone back up to his ear. "Any more surprises I should know about?"

"_Uh… Yeah, I'm gonna drop a couple things into your room. They're probably just gonna appear out of thin air, so watch your head._"

The next few minutes were a blur. There were three large machines that popped into existence, floated through the walls and ceiling and coming to a rest in the newly-extended portion of Theo's room. Gwen then paused after setting down the machines, saying that the extended part of the room needed supports to keep it from collapsing.

Cruxtruder, Totem Lathe, and Alchemiter. Those were the names of the three machines that Gwen deployed into Theo's room, as well as the order in which they were supposed to be used. In addition to the machines, Gwen had also produced a captchalogue card that had some sort of pattern punched into it, and Theo had picked it up and set it onto the cruxtruder.

"Okay, uh…cruxtruder," Theo inspected the first machine, rapping his knuckles on the large, cylindrical object in several places, examining the epicycloid pattern stenciled on the very top. "What am I s'posed to do with this thing?"

"_Uh…_" For once, Gwen finally sounded at a loss. "_I just know you're supposed to get a cruxite dowel from it. You take the cruxite dowel to the lathe, and use the pre-punched card to make the lathe carve the correct pattern into the dowel—almost like the grooves of a key. Then you take the carved dowel to the alchemiter to create a cruxite artifact._"

"Yeah, sounds interesting. But how do I _get_ the…the, uh…whatever it was?"

"_I'm really not sure…_"

"Okay, why don't we figure that out…then I think I'll head to bed for a bit; I'm pooped."

"_It's a deal—I've had enough of this crazy shit for one night!_"

After engaging in some extensive research, digging through the nooks and crannies of the internet to find other player walkthroughs to the game… It was growing close to two in the morning. Theo had been at it for over six hours, much to his surprise. This always happened when he gamed—time seemed to fly right past. He was impressed that Gwen was still playing, as well. When he saw her again, it would be with a newfound respect; he hadn't known Gwen enjoyed gaming so much.

Theo stifled a yawn as he pounded his fists onto the top of the cruxtruder. Gwen had suggested that, to open the contraption, he would have to apply pressure to the top of it. Whack it with something heavy. Theo tried pounding on it with his fists, but that didn't work. He could feel a bit of a give in the top of the machine, but it wasn't enough. So next, he tried climbing on top of it and jumping up and down…but that didn't work, either.

Giving up, Theo hopped off the cruxtruder. He'd set his phone to speaker, so he didn't have to keep it practically attached to his ear for hours on end. "Jumping on it ain't workin', Gwen," he said to his friend. "I'm out of ideas. Unless you can pick up something with your magic server application powers and drop it on top, I don't know how to get it open."

"_Uh… I think I have an idea,_" Gwen murmured. "_How heavy of a sleeper is your Grandma? This could get loud._"

Theo checked the time. It was 1:53 AM. It was now the Thirteenth of April. "I think we're fine…" he surmised. "She goes to bed by eight, and once she _really_ goes to sleep it'd probably take a cannon going off next to her ear to wake her up."

"_Okay, I'll take your word for it. You might want to take a step back…_"

Theo backpedaled as he watched the cruxtruder suddenly rise into the air. Gwen, when she'd first pulled something like that, had told Theo that she was using something called the 'select' tool. She could 'select' things within a certain proximity of Theo's house and move them around, almost like the Sims…only the objects she was moving around were _real_ objects, in the _real_ world.

And so, Gwen 'selected' the cruxtruder and brought it crashing up into the ceiling. Theo's eyes almost widened to twice their size. The top of the cruxtruder actually _punched a hole_ through the ceiling. "What the fuck, Gwen?" Theo shouted into his phone. "You just knocked a hole in the ceiling! Gran's gonna kill me!"

"_Fuck, sorry!_"

Despite the damage done to the ceiling, though, Gwen's method had worked. The top of the cruxtruder popped off, thudding to the floor as Gwen set the cruxtruder back down. The four dark, blank panels set into the base of the cruxtruder on all sides lit up, displaying a countdown. The countdown was in the style of a stopwatch, rather than a numerical countdown—right now, it was at six minutes and twenty-three seconds.

When the top of the cruxtruder came off, an orb of bright, flashing blue light emerged, hovering in the air. Theo could only stare at it, his jaw nearly hanging slack. "Uh… Gwen? Gwen, why is there a ball of flashing light in my bedroom? Are you seeing this?"

"_Yeah, I'm seeing it… Um… I think that's the kernelsprite,_" Gwen replied.

Theo arched an eyebrow at his phone, as if he thought Gwen could see his expression through the speakers. Then he remembered that Gwen actually _could_ see him through the server application. "You say that like you think I'll know what it means."

"_I found some reference to it on IGN,_" Gwen explained. "_It plays a big part in this game, though I'm not exactly sure what that part is. The walkthroughs mention something about prototyping it; I'm pretty sure that means you're supposed to combine it with something._"

"How do you know that?"

"_I, uh… I don't know. Call it a good feeling. Intuition._"

"Okay, let's pretend that you actually know what you're talking about, then." Theo forced himself to look away from the blue kernelsprite, returning to his desk. "You say I'm supposed to combine it with something. Cool beans. How would I do that? You think I should touch it?"

"_No!_" Gwen snapped, raising her voice all of a sudden, causing Theo to jump in surprise. Then Gwen spoke again, having calmed down and softened her tone. "_Sorry for yelling… Don't ask why, I just don't think touching it is the best idea. Not until we know what it does… What about your Bioshock figurine? See what happens if you combine the kernelsprite with the Big Daddy._"

"Okay…" Theo picked up his Big Daddy figurine, turning back to face the kernelsprite, approaching the flashing ball of blue light cautiously, as if he were a zoo worker feeding tigers. He then hesitated. "I really like this Big Daddy, though. Will I get it back?"

"_I don't see why you wouldn't._"

"Well, if you say so…" Theo got as close to the glowing blue orb of flashing light as he dared before tossing the Big Daddy figurine into it. The orb turned white for a moment, and there was a blinding flash of light…

And then the light subsided, revealing a significantly altered kernelsprite. It was no longer an orb of flashing blue light—it was now a disembodied, old-fashioned diving helmet; identical to the one Subject Delta was wearing, with the glass windows in the front, sides, and top. It was still composed of blue light, however; Theo wondered if there was a head inside that helmet.

"Uh…" Theo blinked several times. The Subject Delta-sprite had stopped flitting about the room as it had been upon its release from the cruxtruder, and it now remained perfectly still. It looked as if it were looking at Theo, though it did not speak. "Gwen, you still seein' this? Is this what's supposed to happen?"

"_I guess so,_" Gwen answered hesitantly over the phone. "_I mean, it's not like I've played this game, before; I'm just going off of intuition and guessing!_"

"What's a kernelsprite supposed to do?" Theo asked. "Does this game need a flashing light-creature thing for me to win?"

"_Your sprite is supposed to act as some sort of guide, I think. I'm not exactly sure how it'll do that, though…_" Gwen's voice started to trail off. "_Unless it's talking to you and I'm missing it?_"

"Nope, you aren't missing a thing," Theo confirmed. Another thought occurred to him, then, something he'd noticed when the cruxtruder had opened, but had forgotten in the surprise of having an entity of pulsing blue light nearly being shoved into his face. "Uh… Well, forget Deltasprite for now; what's the story with this countdown on the sides of the cruxtruder? When I opened it, it was counting down from six minutes…now it's at three minutes and twenty seconds. You know what happens when it hits zero?"

"_It's weird; none of the walkthroughs I've read have gotten that far,_" Gwen observed. "_Everyone who was writing them just kinda…stopped updating them before the countdown finished._"

Theo was silent for a few seconds, ignoring Deltasprite and staring at the three machines that had been deployed in his room. "Cruxtruder, Totem Lathe, Alchemiter…" he murmured quietly to himself, as if saying the names of the machines would help him figure out what they were supposed to do.

And, much to Theo's surprise…it actually _did_ help. He'd said them in the order they were supposed to be used. And that'd gotten the wheels in his head turning. He looked at the countdown on the cruxtruder as it reached the three-minute mark. Then he raised his gaze up to the central platform of the machine, which the upper cylindrical portion of it rose from. It was where he'd left the pre-punched captchalogue card that Gwen had deployed for him. That card was the key…one of two keys. And the other key…

Theo stepped forward, brushing past Deltasprite—who continued to watch Theo passively—and stepping up to the cruxtruder. He reached up to the top of the machine and pulled out the medium-sized dowel of blue...cruxite, he thought Gwen had called it? He pulled the cruxite dowel from the top of the cruxtruder, taken aback by how weightless it felt. He then picked up the pre-punched card, holding both objects in his hands. After looking over at the totem lathe, a possible answer came to mind.

"What if it's like a puzzle?" Theo suggested. When Gwen didn't answer, Theo knew that she was interested in his idea and wanted him to continue. So he did just that. "You deploy these three machines, and then this captchalogue card. Maybe I'm supposed to create that, uh…that thing you mentioned, what was it called?"

"_The cruxite artifact._"

"Yeah, maybe I need to create the cruxite artifact before the countdown hits zero, and then…" Theo blinked again, trying to convey his thoughts into words. "I dunno if it'll unlock something, or whatever… But I think if I can do it before the countdown hits zero, then maybe it'll be like beating the first level of the game. Then I'll be able to move to level two! Maybe there'll be more machines—another puzzle, more complicated than this one."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for another few moments. Then, "_Sounds… Well, it's the first real idea we've had, so I'll roll with it,_" Gwen reasoned with herself. "_Okay… Okay. I can see a slot in the totem lathe where the pre-punched card can be inserted. The punched holes in the card are obviously some sort of code—I think the lathe's job is to transfer that code from the card onto the cruxite dowel. The dowel has to be carved in a specific way to correspond with the card._"

"Sounds reasonable," Theo agreed. Glancing again at the countdown, he decided to give it a go. He set the card down on the surface of the lathe, then laid the cruxite dowel horizontally down into the machine, tightening the vice so that it was held in place. He then took the pre-punched card and slipped it into the slot.

The effect was immediate. The totem lathe seemed to scan the punched captchalogue card, and the cruxite dowel started to spin around on its central axis. It spun faster and faster, until it was almost a blur. Then the carving tool was lowered, and Theo barely had time to blink before it shaped the dowel and was retracted. The dowel stopped spinning…and Theo saw that its sides had been warped, almost like the grooves of a key.

Theo removed the dowel from the lathe, conscious of the fact that the countdown had reached a minute and a half. He needed to step things up if he wanted to solve the puzzle. "Okay, the cruxite dowel is all carved up… Where should I put it on the alchemiter?"

"_Put it on the smaller pedestal,_" Gwen recommended. "_I think that mechanical arm attached to the smaller pedestal is the thing that scans the dowel._"

"Then what's the big pedestal do?"

"_Dunno._" Theo could see Gwen shrugging in his mind's eye. He could tell that there was a mote of excitement that had crept into her voice—now that progress was being made, she couldn't wait to see what would happen next. "_Let's scan the dowel and see._"

Theo placed the dowel on the smaller pedestal of the alchemiter, figuring correctly that he should set it down on one of its flat ends. When he did that, the mechanical arm that was connected to that pedestal came to life, unfolding and displaying some sort of laser where the 'hand' should have been. That laser was shined directly onto the carved dowel, scanning it up and down several times, noting the pattern of the grooves.

Theo was ready for something to happen, which was why he didn't jump at the flash of light that happened over the larger pedestal. And when the light cleared away…

"Gwen?" Theo raised his eyebrows again. "It's a turkey. This dowel just created a turkey."

Theo was right on the nose in terms of accuracy. A turkey had materialized on the larger pedestal. It wasn't a normal turkey, however—it was completely blue, the same color as the dowel, and slightly transparent. It looked like it was made of energy. It clacked around the larger pedestal several times, its head flitting to and fro. Then it caught sight of Theo, gave a single gobble…and vanished.

Well, _most_ of it had vanished. The cruxite turkey had left a single part of itself behind on the platform—its furcula. It was a small bone found in birds that was formed by the fusion of their two clavicles; most people, however, called them _wishbones_.

"Is…is this it?" Theo picked up the blue cruxite wishbone, holding it up to the light. It felt like a real bone, even though it was made of cruxite. Other than its color and origin, there was nothing particularly special about it. "Is this the cruxite artifact?"

"_I mean…it has to be,_" Gwen was at as much of a loss as Theo was. "_Can't be anything else. Interesting how it didn't just appear on its own—an entire turkey had to appear first. I like the detail. I wonder what mine will be…_"

"That's right." Theo grinned. "After this, it'll be your turn. You'll fly through it, though, knowin' you."

"_Let's not get ahead of ourselves! Make sure you're all done, first_."

Theo's attention was suddenly turned to the window over his bed. He'd just heard a loud explosion. It had been distant, so it wasn't like a bomb going off in the parking lot, or anything…but still. It had been an explosion—distant, but still loud and large enough to be heard from far away. Theo hurried over to his window, pulling up the blinds.

He couldn't see outside, though, because of all the rain streaking down the outside of the glass. So he had to open his window. The wind was blowing away from that window, luckily, so Theo didn't have to deal with the whole damn thundershower coming into his room.

"Gwen, did you hear that just now?" Theo asked his friend over the speakerphone.

"_Good, I'm not the only one,_" Gwen replied. "_That sure as fuck didn't sound like thunder; I'd wager money that it wasn't thunder. Sounded more like an explosion._"

"Yeah, I'm lookin' outside now, and—_fuck!_" Theo broke off abruptly when he saw a streak of fire spear through the veil of storm clouds in the far distance, shooting down towards the earth and out of sight. There was another muted explosion, exactly like the one Theo had heard before, only a bit quieter.

Had a meteorite just made impact? Was that really the cause of the loud explosions? "Gwen, I just saw a meteorite make landfall," Theo reported to his friend. "You looking out the window?"

"_Yeah, I saw it, too_…" Gwen sounded uneasy. "_Something feels wrong, Theo. I don't like it. Are you all finished?_"

Theo looked back at the cruxtruder and swore to himself. The countdown had just hit thirty seconds. "The countdown's still running; the puzzle isn't solved, yet! Fuck, what am I supposed to do?"

"_Your cruxite artifact is the key,_" Gwen replied. "_It's a wishbone. Maybe you should break it!_"

Theo looked down at the blue cruxite wishbone that he held in his hands. Having no other ideas, he decided to simply follow Gwen's suggestion and go for it. _I wish we can win this game,_ Theo thought to himself, figuring he should use the wishbone properly and make a wish before breaking it. Sure, the 'proper' use of a wishbone required two people, but Theo was willing to overlook that.

"Okay, here goes nothing!" Theo exclaimed. Then, as the countdown reached eight seconds, Theo broke the wishbone.

At first, there wasn't any obvious effect. But then, Theo noticed that there was a subdued blue light glowing outside of his windows, and he could no longer hear the storm. He ran over to his opened window and thrust his head and shoulders out, trying to see what was going on…but all he could see beyond the blue aura was darkness.

"Gwen! Gwen, I broke it, and there's this weird light around my house," Theo spoke rapidly into his phone, retrieving it from his nightstand. "What the hell is happening? Gwen? Hello?" There was no answer. Theo looked at his phone. "_No signal…_" he murmured.

The countdown on the cruxtruder had vanished, the panels going dark once more. When Theo looked up from his phone, he noticed that the blue light had vanished. He could now see outside. Theo returned to the window and looked out. The sky was gray and hazy with a thick veil of mist. He could not see the sun, and everything had been cast into shadow.

As for below the sky… "I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore, Deltasprite…" Theo murmured. He'd been talking mostly to himself, so he was surprised when he actually got an answer.

"You never _were_ in Kansas, Theo Gibbons."

Theo whipped around and nearly had another asthma attack. Floating in the middle of his room was Deltasprite…but it had changed. It was no longer a disembodied diving helmet contained within an orb of light—now, it actually looked like a slightly smaller than life-sized Subject Delta, made out of the same blue energy…only it had no legs. Instead of legs, the sprite's lower body trailed off into a wisp of insubstantial energy, like a ghost.

"Though if you _had_ been in Kansas, then you would be correct," Deltasprite continued. "Your house has been transported into the Medium."

"You…you're…" Theo fought to get the words out of his mouth. "Deltasprite, you're talking!"

"Of course I'm talking!" Deltasprite replied. "Now that I don't have all that kernel bullshit cluttering up my mind, we can get down to business. Welcome to the Land of Fog and Shadow! First thing's first—we need to create a way to access your roof."


	47. V Chapter 47: Turning Point

Chapter Forty-Seven: Turning Point

Theo could scarcely believe what was happening. His Subject Delta figurine had been combined with some sort of energy entity that had emerged from the cruxtruder…and now it was talking to him.

Theo was having a conversation with Subject Delta. He didn't think that anything could possibly top this.

"Couldn't Gwen pull some of her server application magic to do that?" Theo suggested. "She resized my room, somehow—I think making a ladder to the roof would be child's play."

"That duty falls to your server player, yes," Deltasprite agreed. He then hesitated for a moment, holding up the hand that wasn't a drill. "Excuse me for a moment…" As Theo watched, Deltasprite reached up and unsealed his diving helmet, removing it. The helmet dissolved into blue light, revealing an ordinary man's face. Long nose, bushy eyebrows, balding head. "That's better…can't believe the game designers wanted me to wear this for the rest of my life…"

"Okay, hold on." Theo held up his hands, still taking in the fact that he was now looking at a Big Daddy without a helmet. "What…what do you… How can I word this? Do you actually have memories of being in Rapture, fucking with Eleanor Lamb, and running around with Little Sisters? You have memories of that?"

"Yes, I do." Deltasprite nodded.

"So you have fictional memories from a fictional world; not from being created as a figurine in a factory?"

"All fictional characters have lives within the worlds they are created to be a part of…" Deltasprite blinked several times, hovering closer to Theo, a thoughtful expression creeping over his face. "Think of it this way. When you prototyped me…did you want to prototype a lifeless figurine, or did you want to prototype Subject Delta?"

"Well, Subject Delta-"

"Exactly." Deltasprite grinned. "You prototyped a figurine of me…and so you received _me_ as a sprite; not a figurine. Skaia can be quite abstract and flexible in its mechanics—don't think about it too hard, or your brain will start to hurt. Only reason mine isn't throbbing is because it's the first time I've ever used it! I have to tell you; sentience is a wonderful thing."

Theo remembered that he was still holding his phone. There was a signal, somehow…but when Theo tried calling Gwen, the call would never go through. "Dunno what the hell's going on with this thing…" he muttered.

"You won't be able to contact your server player that way," Deltasprite informed Theo.

"Why not?"

Deltasprite arched an eyebrow. "Have you looked outside your window, Theo? You aren't on Earth, anymore! Cell phone service doesn't travel across dimensions, I'm afraid. You'll have to use PalHassle. Contact your server player and meet me up on the roof. I will explain more to you when you can see where you have ended up."

And with that, Deltasprite hovered over to the open window and slipped outside, flying up and out of view, leaving Theo alone in his bedroom. Theo let his phone slip from his ear, dropping it back into his pocket. He glanced up at his ceiling—there hadn't been any noise, so somehow his Gran was still sleeping. It was phenomenal, the old woman's ability to dream her way through any kind of catastrophe. Absolutely phenomenal.

Theo signed into PalHassle and was surprised to find several of his friends online. So he had no cellphone service, but PalHassle still worked… Maybe that was because PalHassle was Skaianet tech, and everything that had caused this had its roots in Skaianet. Theo still wasn't sure how that worked, but it kind of made sense.

Anyhow, it was time for him to reestablish contact with Gwen and make some progress. When he started messaging her, he noted that there was no longer a timestamp.

* * *

><p><em>-turbulentGamer began hassling gamblingTheorist-<em>

TG: Gwen  
>TG: Gwen you there<br>TG: Jesus Christmas  
>TG: Gwen please be there<br>GT: I'm here, I'm here  
>GT: Theo<br>GT: How are you alive right now  
>GT: What the fuck happened<br>TG: I was hoping you could tell me  
>TG: I broke the wishbone<br>TG: Then there was this bright blue light that surrounded my house  
>TG: Then all of a sudden<br>TG: My house ends up someplace else and Deltasprite starts freakin talking to me  
>TG: Yeah I just had a convo with a video game character<br>GT: Theo, we've progressed further in the game than any of the walkthroughs I've found  
>GT: We are in unknown territory right now<br>TG: Wait why'd you ask how I'm alive  
>TG: What happened<br>GT: Theo…  
>GT: Theo, you remember how we saw meteorites falling?<br>GT: You know  
>GT: Right before you broke the wishbone?<br>GT: That's what happened to your neighborhood  
>GT: It got hit by a meteor<br>TG: …  
>TG: You fucking with me?<br>GT: No!  
>GT: Honest to god I just saw it on the news<br>GT: Your entire neighborhood was annihilated  
>TG: It…<br>TG: It happened when the countdown hit zero, didn't it  
>GT: I think so<br>GT: From the time you told me the countdown was at to the time of impact…  
>GT: I think so<br>TG: Jesus  
>TG: How could this be possible<br>TG: What kind of fucked up game is this  
>GT: It gets worse<br>TG: Worse  
>TG: How could it possibly get any worse<br>GT: While I was being your server player on my desktop, I loaded the client application on my laptop  
>GT: And I connected with Gino<br>GT: He's loaded the server application  
>GT: And he dropped in the machines I gave you<br>GT: And…  
>TG: Your cruxtruder has a countdown too<br>TG: Doesn't it  
>GT: Yes<br>GT: I'm kind of scared, right now  
>GT: What if there's another meteorite that's heading for <span>my<span> neighborhood?  
>GT: You know, there have been reports of similar meteor impacts all over the world<br>GT: The game went out yesterday  
>GT: What if meteorites are hitting anyone who plays this game?<br>GT: That means Gino's marked, too  
>TG: I mean at least you know what to do<br>TG: How long until your countdown expires  
>GT: I have almost two hours<br>GT: Pressure isn't quite as bad as yours  
>GT: But there's nothing I can do to stop it<br>TG: Just get your artifact and progress to my stage  
>TG: Then you'll be safe<br>TG: Then I can connect to Gino and we can keep this contained  
>TG: Don't want anyone else's houses getting obliterated, you know<br>GT: Okay, uh…  
>GT: Okay sounds good…<br>GT: Sorry I'm just a little frazzled right now  
>TG: Can I point out how awesome it is that you just used the word <span>frazzled<span> in a sentence  
>GT: Haha, okay, Theo<br>GT: Stay in touch  
>GT: Tami will be contacting you soon<br>TG: Good luck  
>GT: Thanks<br>TG: OH  
>TG: Before you go<br>TG: Can you do me a solid and build a ladder to my roof?  
>TG: I need to meet my sprite up there<br>GT: Give me a sec…  
>GT: Okay, it's done<br>GT: Go to the top of your stairs  
>TG: Awesome thanks<p>

_-turbulentGamer is no longer hassling gamblingTheorist-_

* * *

><p>Theo signed out of PalHassle and got up from his desk. He sprinted upstairs to the third floor. Sure enough, there was now a metal ladder that had been built into the wall, leading up to a hole that extended up through the ceiling to the roof of the house. Theo grasped the rungs and pulled himself up.<p>

Theo made it to the top and clambered out onto the roof, taking several deep breaths of fresh air. He was no longer in Liongate, obviously. And it hadn't been the entire row home which his house was a part of that had been transported into this world…it had just been his house. However, it wasn't like his house was just resting on a hill with an entire wall exposed to the elements—it was attached to the side of a cliff face, resting on top of a ledge.

Theo looked out at the landscape of the strange place his house had been transported to. The sky was gray with a veil of low-hanging fog, too dense to see through. There were thousands of tiny points of light twinkling in the sky. And below… The landscape comprised mostly of forest—massive, oversized trees, ridges and plateaus…as well as the occasional mountain. The cliff face that Theo's house was attached to towered over all the other mountains, however—it was like comparing a Himalaya to an Appalachian.

The forest below also seemed to have a faint glow to it…maybe there was bioluminescent flora underneath the canopy that Theo couldn't see from his roof.

And floating over the center of the roof was Deltasprite, as promised. The un-helmeted Big Daddy grinned at Theo as the teenager looked out over the land. "Interesting, isn't it? Being in a new world?" the sprite glided over to Theo's side. "This is your planet. The Land of Fog and Shadow."

Theo was finished with freaking out. He resolved now to try and take in everything with a sense of calm. _What would Adam do,_ he thought to himself. Then he frowned, dismissing that thought. Adam, in his shoes, would probably devolve into fits of profanity and shouting as his way of coping with something crazy happening. That wasn't the best example to follow.

_What would Cruz do?_ Theo nodded, satisfied with his second choice. Cruz would take everything in stride and not stress out about it, because he'd know there was nothing he could do to change it. All he could do was take in as much as he could and try to make the most of it. Sure, that was probably because he'd be blazed out of his mind throughout the whole ordeal, but that didn't make the core attitude any less worth emulating.

"Where are we, again?" Theo asked his spirit guide.

"The Land of Fog and-"

"_Fog and Shadow,_ I got that part," Theo interrupted, getting right to the point. "Are we on another planet, or something? How did I end up here?"

Deltasprite reached up and scratched an itch behind his ear. "Oh, Theo… You've spent so much of your life trying to live an adventure through your games. How you would have loved Bioshock 2… But now, my friend, you're about to embark on a real adventure—the greatest one you will ever undertake. Possibly the greatest adventure any human has ever undertaken since the Europeans dared to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Look up."

Theo did as the sprite told him, looking straight up into the sky for the first time. Hanging in the air, about a hundred or so feet above Theo's roof, was a strange shape… It was a pattern of curved lines, identical to the spirograph-like symbol that Theo had seen during the installation phase of the Sburb client application. It was made of a glowing blue light—the same blue as the cruxite, as well as the energy which Deltasprite was made out of. It was a circular pattern, and it revolved slowly around its central axis. Then Theo looked up higher and saw that there was another pattern of blue light, identical to the first. It was directly above the first light by about another hundred feet. Theo assumed those objects were what the sprite was trying to direct his attention towards. "What are those things?"

"Those are the Seven Gates," Deltasprite replied. He then added, "Well…only the first and second gates, to be precise, but there are five more above them! You just can't see them because of all the fog. One way to win this game is to have your server player, after they enter the Medium after you, build up your house through use of the server application, and travel through the Seven Gates. You will journey to some of the other worlds in the Medium and gain the skills required for you to master your Aspect and fulfill your role as a Thane of Breath! Eventually, you will work your way up to the seventh and final gate—traveling through it will take you to the palace of Typheus, your Denizen, whom you must face in order to complete your quest on this planet."

Theo's brain was beginning to throb. He pressed his fingers to the sides of his head and started to massage his temples. "This is, uh… This is a lot to take in…" Theo decided to give his mind a temporary reprieve by changing the subject. He threw a quizzical glance over to his sprite. "You know, you sound pretty darn chipper for a Big Daddy from Bioshock. I mean, when I think of Big Daddies, I don't usually picture happy-go-lucky middle-aged men."

"Well, I certainly _wasn't_ a happy-go-lucky person!" Subject Delta told Theo. "I wasn't even a person—I was a fictional character! Giving you a good answer to this quandary depends on how deeply you want to examine your definition of 'self'. Yes, I am Subject Delta. That is my identity…but the Subject Delta you're familiar with is a fictional character. I am no longer a fictional character, and therefore can no longer be held to the standards set for myself within the Bioshock universe. I have memories, but they are ones that were created for me, not ones I experienced—now, I can suddenly have my own thoughts, my own emotions… Now, I suddenly…_am!_ You would feel pretty chipper, too, if you were just given sentience! I suppose some people, were they in my shoes, might feel profound bitterness at their lives being fabrications…but not me. Sure, perhaps what I thought my life was does not actually exist, but it does not matter, because now I have the chance to live! It's quite exhilarating, being alive, is it not?"

Theo stared at his sprite, his expression remaining static, his blue eyes starting to glaze over. "That… Wow, that just hurt my brain even more. Okay. Back to the game. You mentioned something called the Medium; what is that, exactly?"

The sprite still had an amused look on his face. After all, when one thought about what he said… To suddenly be able to exist as a sentient creature must have been wonderful, to say the least. It was no small wonder that he was in such a good mood. Deltasprite fired up his drill hand several times, getting a feel for his new body as he answered Theo's questions.

"The Medium is… How can I say this in a way you'll understand?" Deltasprite hesitated, searching for the best words. "Imagine the solar system. Right now, we have been transported into a dimension, a pocket within paradox space known as the 'incipisphere'. That is like a tiny, miniature universe, slightly larger than the size of our solar system. And the Medium is the solar system contained within the incipisphere! You mustn't consider this dimension to be a universe, however—incipispheres are quite different from actual universes. But enough on that…"

Deltasprite went on to describe a place called Skaia, which rested in the center of the Medium—the Medium's equivalent of the sun. Of course, Skaia was not a star. In his exact words, Deltasprite described it as a dormant crucible of unlimited creative potential, the vessel of the energy from which all things are made. And part of Theo's main objective would be to unlock that energy, though when Theo asked for more details, his sprite grew cagey with his informational word-vomit.

"Okay, I'm with you so far…" Theo gave up trying to pump his sprite for more information about Skaia, turned away from the edge of his roof, paced his way over to the cliff face, placed a hand on the stone. It was cold and damp to the touch, and there was moss that grew in the crevices. Theo decided it was time to change the subject, see if his sprite was willing to be more helpful with other topics of discussion. "You, uh… What did you mean when you said going through the gates was one way to win? Are there other ways to win?"

"There is another, more difficult method to complete your quest on this world, yes." Deltasprite nodded. "Inhabiting the Land of Fog and Shadow is a race of sentient creatures known as _consorts_. You will encounter them soon, and they will help you on your quest. The other method of victory involves convincing your consorts to march into battle behind you to defeat the underlings and face Typheus directly without having to travel through the gates. Traveling through the gates to attain victory is known as a _Hero's Journey,_ while challenging your Denizen with your consorts is known as a _Hero's Conquest_."

"Which do you think I should do?"

"That, Theo, is entirely up to you," Deltasprite replied. "This is your quest. I cannot make any choices for you."

Theo looked back out at the sky, his eyes narrowing. He could've sworn he'd heard a noise, a faint screech. He didn't hear it a second time, however, so he dismissed it. "So, then… Okay. I'm not on Earth, anymore. Got it. Okay. How, uh…how do I get back? Do I get back home after winning the game?"

Deltasprite hesitated before answering that question. And when he finally answered, he did so delicately. "Theo… I am afraid that will not be possible. Earth, as you know it, is no more. You remember the meteorites, just before you broke the wishbone?"

"Yeah…"

"Those were only the first of thousands," Deltasprite continued. "The first…and the smallest. Earth is doomed, and there is nothing you can do to save it."

"But…" Theo gaped at the ghostly man in the diving suit. Now, he could understand exactly what his sprite was saying…but his mind was refusing to listen to it. It was simply too horrible to be true. "I… I don't understand... Where the fuck did all those meteorites come from?"

The world almost seemed to spin around Theo as Deltasprite continued to tell him that his home was gone. At first, Theo refused to listen. How could Earth be gone? That would mean that everyone was… That would mean that he was the last… That would mean that his friends were…

Panic began to flow into his body and mind like water from a broken dam when he felt his chest begin to seize up, preventing him from breathing. He was having another attack…and he'd left his inhalers in his room.

Theo turned from his sprite, staggering back to the ladder and sliding down into his house. His vision was beginning to grow blurry as he half-slid, half-clambered down the first flight of stairs to the landing, and his lungs felt like they were about to explode. He needed his inhaler, and he needed it _now_. He wasn't able to climb down the next flight of stairs to the second floor—he tripped in his haste and fell head over heels down the steps, ending up in a heap.

Theo crawled towards his bedroom door, gasping desperately for air, but he knew he would not make it in time. His lungs were burning, his vision fuzzy, his thoughts beginning to grow scattered and delirious.

Then the bedroom door opened and Deltasprite floated through, holding the inhaler in his hand. The sprite used his drill hand to prop Theo's head up, which was uncomfortable beyond belief, and held the inhaler up to his creator's lips. "Breathe, Theo. Breathe…" When Theo struggled to take another breath, Deltasprite released the inhaler's contents.

The relief was immediate.

The painful tightness in Theo's chest abated as his airway opened back up, allowing the air to rush back into his lungs like little kids onto a playground. This time, however, Theo's mind did not clear itself. If anything, his earlier panic had been intensified; and to top it all off, he now felt nauseous. Suddenly not wanting to be alone—and he was not currently counting Deltasprite as company—Theo scrambled back up to his feet and ran upstairs.

He ran down the tiny corridor that made up the entire third floor of his home, heading right for his Gran's door. Not even bothering to knock, he simply turned the handle and thrust it open…but, to his dismay, there was no one in the room. The bed was empty. Gran was gone.

For the first time in his life, Theo Gibbons felt truly alone.

* * *

><p>Cass Galavis felt almost like Louis or Clark, when they traveled west and finally lost sight of St. Louis. Or maybe Bilbo Baggins when he took his first step out of the Shire. Sure, maybe she wasn't trying to explore the frontier until she hit the Pacific Ocean, nor was she traveling with a band of Dwarves to reclaim the Lonely Mountain…but, in a way, she <em>was<em> taking her metaphorical first step out of the Shire.

The boy she liked had just convinced her, during her study hall period in the auditorium, to cut school early and go out to lunch. Now, while this might not have sounded like a very noteworthy achievement per se, in the particular case of Cass Galavis it was certainly an eye-opener. She was the quiet, soft-spoken sort of straight-A student who actually did all of her homework, and would never be caught dead skipping a class.

But here she was, walking down towards Downingtown East's lower parking lot alongside Adam Tarrant, the boy who'd just asked her out. She'd spoken with him via text message the previous night, and they'd agreed to go out with each other sometime later in the week…but Adam's impatience seemed to have gotten the better of him. He wanted to cut school and take Cass out to Main Street—a small collection of shops and restaurants on the edge of Exton—to grab lunch.

Cass wondered why she'd allowed herself to be convinced to cut school. Why now? Maybe it was because of the spontaneity of the whole thing? Cass was many things, but she was never spontaneous. Maybe she was simply bored. She had considered going out with Adam several times, but had never been able to bring herself to ask him…and now that he'd gone and asked her, now that the opportunity had been served up to her on a platter…how could she turn it down?

Cass stole a glance at Adam out of the corner of her eye and nearly burst out laughing when she saw the grin that was on his face. He always made sure to conceal it, or at least _lessen_ it, whenever he thought she was looking, but she was being stealthy this time. _Boys are weird,_ she thought to herself.

As they approached Adam's car—a 2001 Ford Focus which he affectionately named 'Little Blue'—Adam stopped short, his hands whipping in and out of his pockets. He then pulled off his backpack and started rummaging through the zippers, muttering to himself.

"Hang on, Cass, I left the keys in my locker." He gave a sheepish grin, setting his backpack down on the trunk of his car, obviously not caring about the fact that it would get wet with all the rainfall.

Cass blinked once, giving Adam a look. "You left your keys in your locker?"

"Look, sorry! I put 'em down when I got my jacket!" Adam held up his hands, almost making Cass laugh at how defensive he'd just gotten. "Don't judge me! I'll be back in less than a minute…"

And with that, Adam was off across the parking lot, sprinting towards the steps that would take him up to the bus lane. Cass shook her head once, still smiling as she leaned against the car. To be honest, she was actually feeling pretty nervous. Not from cutting out of school…but from the whole possible 'relationship' thing. She'd never had a boyfriend, before, and she had no idea what to do…and she got the feeling that Adam was in a similar boat. Yes, she knew Adam had gone out with Anna not too long ago, but she also knew that it had been a very dysfunctional relationship, and that it had ended very badly.

And ultimately…she simply didn't know very much about Adam. She talked with Theo a lot, but Adam wasn't a person of very many words. She'd noticed that he tended to play the sarcastic, hard-shelled part whenever he was in public…but whenever he tried to talk to her, he could barely get out a full sentence without having his face go red.

_My God, I think he might actually like me,_ Cass's internal monologue continued.

She did not have time to think of anything else, unfortunately. She'd barely finished that last thought when a massive streak of fire suddenly roared through the rainclouds. Cass only got a single glimpse at the fireball as it emerged from the clouds before the high school suddenly vanished in a wall of flame.

The last thing Cass saw was Adam on the steps leading up to the bus lane, silhouetted by the massive blast, sent flying high into the air. Then the shockwave threw Cass off her feet and to the ground, where she struck her head on the asphalt and immediately lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>Cass woke up with a start, her heart pounding, bathed in a cold sweat. She had only hazy memories of what had just happened to her, further contributing to her disorientation. She was back in bed, and it was nighttime…but she was not in her room. Everything in this room seemed to exist only in shades of a muted yellow, and she was dressed in strange, purple pajamas that had a crescent moon symbol emblazoned on the shirt.<p>

When Cass looked over to the window, she realized that she was very high up into the air—she could see an entire skyline of a city with a noticeable curve in the horizon, betraying the city's overall massive spherical shape. The city was made of purple material, too. Stone, bricks, metal—all various shades of violet, interspersed with decorative-looking pillars and slabs of black, shiny rock that was probably obsidian.

And in the sky, she could see something that resembled a giant, purple chain…connected to the planet that loomed over Cass's tower. Cass deduced that with a clearly larger planet hogging up such a large portion of the sky, she had to be located on some sort of moon. A lunar city-planet.

Cass could see a couple people in the city below, dark figures walking through the alleyways of the shadowy streets. The streets themselves, however, seemed to be deserted. For a while, Cass was unable to put her finger on what was so unusual about the city below, besides the fact that it was purple…until she realized that it was because it was silent. It was almost as if the city swallowed sound.

Cass was reminded of snowfall in the middle of a windless night. When Cass went outside at night during snowfall, especially when the snow was already covering everything, there was absolutely no noise to be heard. Not even the normal ambience of the outdoors—no insects, no wind, no cars, no rustling leaves…nothing. The only sound was that of her own breathing.

There was something calming about the silence. It was not a stifling or suffocating silence that rested over the city. It was a very soothing, relaxing quiescence, almost as if the purple city below were releasing a gentle sigh.

Cass floated up from her bed and toward another of the windows. She'd almost reached the window by the time she noticed that her feet were not touching the ground. A sense of giddiness filled Cass as she realized that she must have been dreaming. It had been a long time since she'd had a lucid dream.

It made sense…she had faint memories of something that had happened to her before she ended up here. She'd been at school…then outside in the rain…then there had been fire. An explosion. What had happened?

Cass gave a shrug, finding no real desire to worry about it. She felt incredibly laid-back and free-spirited at the moment. There was a massive city below, and she felt like seeing more of it…not worrying about the memories that haunted the edges of her mind.

"Might as well explore," she murmured to herself, sliding through the window and allowing herself to fall gently down towards the city below, the stones that made up her tower rushing by. When she reached the ground, she saw that all the streets were made of violet, dark gray, and black cobblestones.

When she set off down the nearest street, heading deeper into the city, she found she could propel herself many yards forward with each stride, almost like she were an astronaut bounding across the surface of the moon. Gravity simply didn't seem to have any hold over her, in this place. Cass laughed as she flew down the street, feeling the happiest she'd ever felt.

Finally, she came to a stop at a square of sorts, where several roads intersected. There were shadowy figures gathered at the sides of the streets, staring at Cass through partially-shuttered windows, whispering to one another. They were humanoid in appearance, but not actually human… Their skin was a glossy black, and Cass believed it to be more of an exoskeleton than actual flesh. Their eyes and teeth stood out in sharp contrast with the rest of their bodies.

"Hey!" Cass waved at one of the windows, trying to say hi to the people inside, but the window's shutters were immediately closed. Cass shrugged and started walking down a new road, taking in the sights.

That is, until she was suddenly seized by the arm and dragged off the street by an unseen assailant. Everything had happened so fast, Cass didn't even get a look at her assailant until she had already been pulled into a nearby tower. She threw her attacker's grip off and, instinct taking over, quickly accessed her strife specibus, retrieving an M16A4 assault rifle virtually out of thin air. She leveled the rifle at her attacker. "Okay, you have five seconds to either start talking or lose your head!"

As Cass's eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the tower, she could get a better look at her assailant. He was a shorter person, wearing a wide-brimmed fedora and a dark gray suit. He had large, white eyes, and nubby teeth, as well as an ugly scar that ran from below his right eye to the center of his chin. "It is night, and curfew is in effect. If the Enforcers were to find you on the streets… They would have thrown you to the dungeons, if you are lucky. Otherwise they would shoot you where you stood."

"Who are you?" Cass asked, still not lowering her assault rifle. Her dreamlike happiness had evaporated, and now she'd become much more lucid, like she'd just gotten splashed by cold water.

"They call me the Wrathful Veteran," the dark-shelled creature replied. "Little nickname I acquired from my protesting days… You could say I've calmed down a bit since then. But I am not what is important—you are. You are the Sylph."

Cass lowered her rifle a fraction, giving the alien a suspicious frown. "The who? What?"

"You are the Sylph," the dark-shelled alien repeated himself. "You are one of the eight heroes. And you are going to have to be _much_ more careful in the future… The Black Queen may already know that you are awake, in which case she will most likely…"

* * *

><p>Cass's eyes flew back open. She was expecting to be momentarily blinded by the daylight…but there were thick rainclouds hanging low to the ground, as well as a giant pillar of smoke gushing into the sky from the still-burning remains of Downingtown East High School. Sirens from emergency response vehicles could be heard in the near distance, rapidly approaching.<p>

Everything came rushing back.

Cass picked herself up off the parking lot, ignoring the throbbing in her head. She frantically looked around for Adam for a second before remembering that he'd actually been blown into the air by the explosion. He'd probably landed a good distance away… Cass limped out of the parking lot, making her way down across the baseball fields towards Route 113. She'd been drawn in that direction by a section of the tall chain-link fence that surrounded home plate which had been torn down. Lying in the middle of the wreckage was Adam, unconscious, his clothes scorched and burned, but his skin was somehow unharmed.

Paramedics arrived and promptly loaded Adam onto a stretcher, taking him away in an ambulance. As for Cass, they made sure she didn't have a concussion before deciding she did not need to be hospitalized. Instead, a policeman arrived to take her home.

As Cass watched the burning inferno that had once been her high school fade away into the distance, she could not help but feel that a turning point had been reached. Though she would not understand why or how for a long time, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.


	48. V Chapter 48: Bureaucratic Errors

Chapter Forty-Eight: Bureaucratic Errors

Jack Noir's already-crappy day was about to get crappier, and he knew it. Whenever the Queen requested his presence, it was never for an invitation to one of the eight planets for a vacation. It was never for a congratulations on over ten thousand years of hard work that he put in every day as the Archagent of Derse—all the parking citations he needed to sign off on, all the paperwork that he had to file, not to mention the Courtyard Droll's mental incompetence and the Dignitary's constant scheming… It was never even for a simple 'hello'.

The Black Queen would never stoop to complimenting him—not to such a low level. All the Archagent wanted was to finish his paperwork and relax for the rest of the day, maybe visit the dungeons and find an inmate or two to stab. He never considered that maybe his love of stabbing people was becoming a problem—a lot of the time, he was merely trying to say _hello_.

None of that today, though. Today, he had been summoned personally by the Black Queen through his two all-seeing fenestrated windows. He'd once had four fenestrated windows which, together, formed a Cubicle of Vigilance, but an old woman had made off with two of them a long time ago. So Jack had to make do with half of what he usually had. In all honesty, one fenestrated window was more than enough, but Jack much preferred forming four windows into a cubicle—it made it harder for the lesser agents and Enforcers to disturb his day.

Now, he simply had to make do. And with the war against Prospit back in full swing…

And so, Jack pulled on his tattered suit jacket and donned his rumpled old fedora, walking out of his office, down the elevator, and out into the city. The Archagent spared a glance to the sky, looking at the moon high overhead, anchored by the giant obsidian chain that connected it to Derse.

Jack's office was situated within the Amethyst Tower, which served as a headquarters of sorts for the Dersite Agents—of whom Jack was the overall commander, being the Archagent. The Amethyst Tower was, perhaps not so coincidentally, located not far from the Silent Dungeon—the most hated and feared prison on all of Derse. In the near distance, Jack could see four of the massive prototyping towers, marking the location of the Obsidian Keep, where the Queen resided.

Curfew was not currently in effect, so there were citizens roaming the streets, but none of them dared remain within the vicinity of the Archagent. Wherever Jack walked, he would see fellow Dersites fleeing into the alleyways, windows being shuttered, doors being sealed. He allowed himself a faint grin, enjoying the fear he struck into the hearts of the weaklings.

It took Jack nearly fifteen minutes to walk to the Obsidian Keep. He did not even bother to ask for permission to enter—the gate sentries promptly allowed him entry, not wanting to go through the trouble of being stabbed by the Archagent for facilitating any sort of delay. Jack walked straight into the Keep, heading down the dimly-lit corridor that led to the throne room.

Waiting in front of the heavy obsidian doors that opened up into the throne room was another Dersite, taller than the Archagent. He wore a suit that was, unlike Jack's, completely free of wrinkles and creases. He also wore a bowler hat instead of a fedora. He arched a brow at Jack, taking another drag from his cigarette. "You're late," the Draconian Dignitary remarked.

"What the hell are you doing here, D?" Jack grumbled. It was just his luck—the only thing worse than having to answer a summons to the Black Queen was having to answer it alongside his Number Two. The Dignitary was efficient and ruthless, sure, but his silver-tongued, glossy attitude grated on the Archagent.

"Summons from the Queen," the Dignitary replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. "Must be serious, calling both of us in at the same time."

"Or maybe she wants to make us wear princess costumes. Who knows what goes on in Her Majesty the Bitch's head." Jack rolled his eyes. "Let's get this over with."

The Dignitary dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it underfoot before pushing open one of the doors, allowing him and the Archagent entry into the throne room. The throne room was not overly large—merely a round, medium-sized chamber with two thrones in the center; the larger one made of obsidian, and the smaller made of amethyst. The black throne was empty, but occupying the smaller one was a tall, thin, beautiful Dersite woman. She wore a crown on her head and a tight-fitting black waistcoat. She also wore a silver chain around her neck, a golden ring with eight orbs dangling on the chain below her throat.

The Black Queen had had that ring for as long as Jack could remember…but the strange thing was that now, three of those small stones were blazing with light. Something was amiss; the Archagent could sense the tingle in the air.

"Do you gentlemen know why I have summoned you, today?" The Black Queen's voice was soft and crisp, almost like a purr. Many who heard it were often lulled into complacency by how harmless it sounded…but Jack had known the Queen for far too long to be able to ignore how dangerous she was. But that also did not mean that he feared her, which he probably should have.

"Is it because you want my butter rum muffin recipe?" Jack asked, already weary of this meeting. He never liked how the Black Queen enjoyed toying with her prey before finally striking. He was very much a 'stab first, ask questions later' type. He also noted how the Dignitary had remained silent in response to the Queen's query—perhaps the Dignitary had already known that Jack would break the ice with a snarky retort.

The Black Queen bared her pointed teeth in a wolfish smile. "Much as I do enjoy our usual banter, Noir, you would do well to keep your tongue shuttered away before I decide it needs removing."

"_No,_ to answer your question," The Dignitary inserted himself into the conversation with the ease of an IV needle, "we do not know why you have summoned us. But we would like to be enlightened."

"The Heroes have arrived." the Black Queen ceased with the foreplay and got right to the point, waiting for her declaration to sink in.

The Dignitary blinked. "The Nobles, you mean? That is quite impossible. The Nobles are dead. I killed a few of them myself."

"No, I do not mean the Nobles—they have been dead for over ten thousand years." The Black Queen gave a sigh of impatience. "I mean the Heroes, the ones the consorts are waiting for. Gentlemen, the Sylph is now awake." The Black Queen picked up a remote from the arm of her throne and clicked a button. There was a mechanical whirring noise as a fenestrated window was lowered from the ceiling. Jack and the Dignitary stepped out of the way, up towards the Queen's throne, so that they could see what was being displayed on the screen.

They were rewarded with a view of an empty street, this footage obviously having been captured during the curfew hours. Then, all of a sudden, an auburn-haired girl in violet pajamas came bounding down the road, flying through the air like gravity had no hold over her. She had an expression of pure happiness on her face—Jack could tell that she was laughing, even though there was no audio. It made him nauseous.

But the most surprising part was the fact that she was no Dersite…she was human. Just like the Nobles from the consorts' mythology. Even the Dignitary was unable to mask his surprise.

"This footage was taken from the moon, less than two hours ago," the Black Queen explained. "And it begs the question how we were not aware of the Heroes' arrival until we saw the Sylph running down one of our streets in plain view. Tell me, Archagent…when was the last time surveillance was performed on the lunar towers?"

"Two thousand years ago," Jack answered without hesitation. "Got tired of peeping into empty bedrooms."

"Well, had you bothered to check within the last twenty years, those towers might not have been _quite so empty!_" The Black Queen's frustration peeked through her calm, composed exterior for a brief moment. Then she regained her composure, as if nothing had happened. "I want someone's head for this, Noir. Have it sendificated to my private chambers by the end of the week."

"Done." Jack gave a single nod, already drawing up a mental list of Agents whom he disliked.

"And what of the Sylph?" the Dignitary gestured to the fenestrated window. "As long as we're ignoring the Rules, we should take care of her. She will cause trouble."

"Fuck the Sylph," Jack interrupted. "She's just a healer. We should be focusing on the Prince. He will be the most dangerous of them all."

Then the Draconian Dignitary gave Jack a rather large surprise by saying, "I believe this is something we can both agree on. If the Prince of Mind were to mingle with the commoners, we could possibly have a full-scale uprising on our hands by the end of the month. He should be dealt with immediately. Him, and then the Thane. The Sylph and the Witch will not be such a problem with their male counterparts out of the equation."

"_Enough_." The Black Queen held up a hand, silencing the two Agents. "The young ones in the towers are not truly the Heroes—merely their dream selves. Having them on the moon makes it more convenient to kill them, certainly, but it also presents us with a golden opportunity."

The Dignitary caught the Queen's drift before Jack did, much to the Archagent's supreme annoyance. "Focus on killing their waking selves, then," the Agent deduced. "Without their waking selves, the Heroes will revert to their dream selves. Then we will own them. Perhaps we should go a step further—capture their dream selves, throw them in the Silent Dungeon. Once we kill one of their waking selves, we can off their dream selves at the same time. That's the only surefire way to make sure they stay dead."

Jack Noir rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. It was just like the Dignitary, weaving intricate plans and filling the Queen's ears with smart-sounding nonsense. He'd prefer to just go after the Heroes and keep stabbing until they stayed down. His fingers unconsciously tapped the hilt of his knife, and he was overcome with a sudden longing to bury the blade in someone. His favorite attack: one quick thrust, up through the back of the neck and straight into the brain… Or a quick slash across the throat…

"My thoughts exactly." The Black Queen gave a little smile. It was a cold smile, one that did not reach her glaring white eyes. "We can start with the Prince. The Thane, too, shall follow. Noir, you will travel to the Land of Thought and Steam, and you will handle the Prince's waking self personally. As for you, Dignitary, I want you to travel to the Land of Rain and Rivers."

Normally, the Dignitary would have hesitated. He was not entirely sure which planet corresponded to which Hero, but the Land of Rain and Rivers was a no-brainer. It was the Knight's world, home to the cobra-consorts. Ever since classifying the cobra-consorts as a threat to Dersite dominance, the Black Queen had maintained a strong military presence on that planet for centuries. It was considered to be the most hazardous of the eight worlds—most sane Dersite soldiers would rather be stationed on the Battlefield under the Black King than the Land of Rain and Rivers.

If anyone would be able to handle themselves there, it would be the Dignitary. Jack would probably end up killing several of the consorts there, and then he would end up having to face an entire planet of angry cobras who had the ability to manipulate energy. The Dignitary, at least, would be able to avoid confrontation.

"The Knight's waking self will be arriving there soon—he is the most dangerous of the Prospitian Heroes, and as such should be given priority equal to that of the Prince," the Black Queen continued. "Noir, you will send one of your Agents—the Brute, perhaps, or the Droll—to Prospit. Send them with the dark ring and give them orders to kill the Knight's dream self. Coordinate this assassination with the Dignitary; kill both of the Knight's selves at the same time. If we can take out the Knight and the Prince early on, this war will be a cakewalk."

There were a few more things that the Black Queen wished to discuss, and Jack didn't even bother to conceal his boredom—yawning several times in the middle of the Dignitary's little monologues. Then they were both dismissed.

Jack could feel the Dignitary's ice-cold gaze on him as they walked together down the hall towards the entrance of the Obsidian Keep, but he countered it with his innate ability to not give two shits. "Talking the Queen's ear off, today," Jack remarked as they stepped outside, passing through the gates onto the Boulevard. "You realize that's why she likes me better? I talk less. Less bullshit comes out of my mouth."

"Perhaps," the Dignitary conceded, lighting up another cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke into the sky. "But I can do without the Queen's favor. I'm the only one who can keep you from committing wanton genocide against the civilians; the Queen will not replace me even if you try to."

Jack found that he had no good response to that, because the Dignitary was absolutely right. His scowl deepened, and his urge to stab someone started to make his eye twitch. He started to honestly consider lessening the inmate population of the Silent Dungeon by two or five before leaving for the Land of Thought and Steam. This was no longer just a fanciful thought; it was dangerously close to actually becoming an item on Jack's agenda.

"How do you think you're gonna off the Knight?" Jack decided to change tack. He could not argue with the Dignitary without getting angry, so he would instead discuss something that they both had in common at the moment: upcoming assassination assignments.

"Not entirely sure, yet," the Dignitary admitted. "I'll have to play it by ear. I think I'll probably garrote him."

"Gettin' in close, are you?" Jack arched a brow once more. "Not your style. Expected you to go for something more long-ranged and gutless."

The Draconian Dignitary responded to Jack Noir's barbed remarks only with a faint smile. One benefit to working under Jack for thousands of years for the Dignitary was his acquired imperviousness to the foul-tempered Archagent's insults. "I will not be garroting the Knight while he is _awake,_ obviously. That would just be plain dangerous."

Jack was still muttering under his breath even as the two Agents approached the Amethyst Tower. Curfew hours were still not in effect, but the Boulevard—the busiest street in all of Derse—was completely barren and devoid of activity. The Dersites had kept to the shadows when they'd seen Jack walking to the Obsidian Keep, but with Jack and the Dignitary walking _together_… There wasn't a single living soul in sight.

The Dignitary accompanied Jack up to the Archagent's office to finalize details for the upcoming assassinations. The Black Queen gave the orders, but it was up to the Archagent and his subordinates to plan and carry them out. And planning assassinations—loath as Jack was to admit it—was more up the Dignitary's alley than Jack's.

"It's settled," the Dignitary declared after a few minutes of terse discussion with his superior. "The Hegemonic Brute will go to Prospit with the Droll as backup. The Brute will also get the dark ring—he'll need it, if he's going after the Knight's dream self while it's awake. Dream selves are tricky."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack grunted, filing away yet another stack of hated paperwork that was cluttering up his desk. "That's the easy part. What I want to know is who will be running the show on the home front while the both of us are off-world?"

"The Chief of the Enforcers should be up for the job," the Dignitary replied. Before Jack could even protest, the Dignitary held up a hand. "I am aware of your dislike for the man. However, his narrow-mindedness will serve our purpose. The Queen will handle the dream selves—she will be supported by the Enforcers, and as Chief of the Enforcers, our man will be the best candidate for acting-Archagent."

"Fine, I'll let the idiot have the job. But if he fucks things up, it'll be your head."

That got a chuckle from the Dignitary. "I think not; I am far too important, here. It will be someone _else's_ head."

"Fair enough." Jack reclined in his chair. "You can get out of my office, now. And have the Authority Regulator sent in on your way out. If he's gonna be the new me for a while, he'd better get used to this fucking paperwork."

* * *

><p>Gino Caiazzo resisted the temptation to tear into the cheese pizza that had just been delivered less than ten minutes ago. It had been taking up most of his computer desk, so he was forced to move it onto his bed before continuing to play Sburb with Gwen.<p>

He watched through his computer screen as Gwen shattered her cruxite artifact. Upon zooming out from her house, Gino was surprised to find that he was no longer looking at Downingtown. Gwen's house now appeared to be located on an island of sorts, in the middle of a tropical ocean. This had to just be the server feed's graphics fucking with his computer—Gino still hadn't quite figured out how the server application allowed him to view Gwen's house without use of a camera, but having Gwen's entire house transported to another place? No, that was ridiculous.

And yet…

And yet, he'd heard snatches of what had happened to Theo, of how a meteorite had apparently demolished his neighborhood, but he and his house had somehow escaped the destruction… And, just now, he could have sworn he'd heard another not-so-distant explosion after Gwen broke her cruxite artifact. Could that have been another meteor? Combining that with the news of Downingtown East getting obliterated by a freak meteor impact...

"Hey, Gino! You seein' the news?" Gino heard his Dad calling up from the den in the first floor of the apartment. "There's fuckin' meteors fallin' all over the goddamn place!"

"_Cool._" Gino rolled his eyes, irritated at being interrupted. Whenever his Dad called up to him, it derailed his train of thought, and he'd have to take a moment to get himself back on track. He picked up his cellphone and tried calling Gwen, but it didn't even go to her voicemail. It was almost as if her number no longer existed. So instead, he had to resort to using PalHassle.

* * *

><p><em>-gentlemanConsigliere began hassling gamblingTheorist-<em>

GC: uh…  
>GC: gwen?<br>GC: gwen, wtf just happened?  
>GC: the server feed's showin ur house on a fuckin island or some shit now<br>GT: Gino, I have a weird question for you  
>GC: uh, i think it wont be half as weird as this fuckin game is makin itself out 2 be<br>GT: Did you hear an explosion?  
>GT: Just after I broke my artifact?<br>GC: uh…  
>GC: ya i kinda did<br>GC: y?  
>GT: FUCK<br>GT: I was right, I knew I was right…  
>GT: Okay, Gino, you need to listen to me<br>GT: These meteorites that are crashing all over the world?  
>GT: They're <span>targeting<span> us  
>GT: They're targeting anyone who plays this game<br>GT: And so many people have already started playing…  
>GT: Gino this is going to sound ridiculous<br>GT: But I think the world is ending  
>GT: My sprite told me that the meteorites hitting us are only the first of thousands…<br>GT: The first, and the smallest  
>GC: ur rly gonna listen to wat a ghostly rabbit sez 2 u?<br>GC: dont sound very reliable 2 me, yo  
>GT: It's not just the rabbit in the sprite, anymore<br>GT: My Gramps kinda jumped into it, and now…  
>GT: It's complicated, but my sprite is pretty damn reliable right now<br>GT: If he says Earth is doomed, I'm inclined to believe him  
>GC: but…<br>GC: i…  
>GC: jesus, how can we stop it, then?<br>GT: We can't stop it, Gino  
>GT: All we can do is escape it<br>GT: Tami's installed the server application  
>GT: You need to load your client disc and connect to her<br>GT: And you need to do it now  
>GT: And whatever you do, break your cruxite artifact before the countdown on your cruxtruder hits zero<br>GT: Shit, I have to go  
>GT: Underlings are coming<br>GT: Call me when you arrive on your planet, will you?  
>GC: planet?<br>GC: wtf r u talkin-

_-gamblingTheorist is no longer hassling gentlemanConsigliere-_

* * *

><p>Gino stared at his computer screen for almost two straight minutes, not saying a word, too shocked to speak. Then, when the shock wore off, denial came rushing in to fill the void. The world was ending? He was being target by a meteorite? It was bullshit. All bullshit.<p>

On the other hand…

Gino's gaze swiveled over to the window. Outside, he could see cars rushing past on Lincoln Highway. He could see Central Presbyterian Church in the near distance—well, only the very top of it over all the trees. He could see the woods on the far side of Lincoln Highway…though everything he could see was obscured slightly by the pouring rain. And because of the rain, he could not clearly see the meteorites falling from the sky—only brief flashes of red fire.

The idea of the world getting destroyed by meteorites was a ridiculous one, but…but the meteorites were still falling, and Gino could see them with his own eyes. He still wasn't convinced that the world was ending, but some part of his mind decided that he could not afford to risk it. He had his Dad to think of, as well.

And so, Gino's next action was to take his client disc and slot it into the computer drive. The introduction window flashed into existence, displaying the possible hosts to connect with. Gino did not select any of them, however. Instead, he picked up his phone and found Tami Abramov's number in his contacts list, calling her.

After ringing several times, Tami answered. "_You got your client loaded up?_" she asked, getting right down to business. This didn't surprise Gino all that much—Tami rarely spoke to him, and when she did…well, she rarely had nice things to say to him. Probably still bitter over the failed relationship they'd had their freshman year.

"Yeah, Tam, waitin' on your go."

Gino muttered under his breath. Why, of all people, did it have to be Tami Abramov who was connecting with him? Honestly, he'd rather even deal with Adam Tarrant than Tami—and that was saying a lot! But, if the world _were_ actually about to end…being picky wouldn't exactly be in his best interests.

When the game notified Gino that a host player was attempting to connect with him, and when Gino verified that the host player's IP address matched Tami's, he hit ENTER and started off the shitstorm that made up the client application.

There was a series of loud thumps on the ceiling. A faint crack actually appeared on the ceiling of Gino's bedroom, and any dust that had settled came falling loose. "Jesus Christ, Tam, couldn't you be more gentle with the fuckin' machines?"

"_Yeah, I could._" Tami's tight-lipped response was. "_I just popped open your cruxtruder for you. You're welcome. And here…_"

Gino nearly jumped, startled by a pre-punched captchalogue card that appeared out of thin air and fell onto his head. And with that, Tami hung up. Gino listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before laying the phone back down onto his desk. _Bitches really need to chill_… he muttered to himself in his head.

"Yo, Troublemaker, what the fuck's makin' all that racket up there?" Gino's Dad hollered up from downstairs once more. Obviously, he had heard Tami's handiwork with the three entry machines.

"Nothing, Dad! Have another beer!"

"Sounds good! You want one?"

"Later!" Gino massaged his temples in frustration for a moment before grabbing his jacket, leaving his room, and climbing the ladder to the roof. While Tami had been nice enough to build the ladder, she had not bothered to include some sort of covering for the opening in the roof. The hallway was already getting wet from all the rain that was pouring through.

Gino pulled his coat tighter about his neck to keep the rain from getting him too wet. There was a glowing orb of pulsing yellow light hovering in the air over the opened cruxtruder. It was the kernelsprite, waiting for Gino to prototype it with something. The teenager ignored it for now, focusing instead on retrieving the yellow cruxite dowel and securing it to the totem lathe. He inserted the pre-punched captchalogue card into the lathe's receptacle, watching the carving mechanism descend and shape the dowel into its proper form, corresponding with the code of the pre-punched captchalogue card.

As he worked, Gino was conscious of an odd countdown that had appeared on the sides of his cruxtruder. As of now, it was counting down from about four minutes. He did his best to ignore the countdown—Gwen had, after all, warned him to break his cruxite artifact before it ran out. Maybe, if anyone who played this game was being targeted by meteorites, they had until that countdown hit zero before… Well, before _**BOOM**_.

Gino removed the carved cruxite dowel from the lathe and ran it over to the alchemiter, setting it down on the scanning pedestal. Twice, he nearly slipped on the slick rooftop, but was able to save himself at the last minute. Muttering under his breath, cursing Tami for putting all the machines on the roof, he activated the alchemiter and watched the mechanical arm unfold itself and scan the carved dowel with its laser.

There was a pause…and then Gino's eyes widened as a man made solely of yellow energy—a shade of yellow identical to the kernelsprite and the cruxite—appeared on the larger pedestal of the alechemiter. The energy-man was wearing robes, as well as a distinctive collar. He was a priest. And he was holding something…

The ghostly priest grinned at Gino and placed the object he was holding down onto the pedestal. Then he vanished. The object he'd left behind remained, however. Gino picked it up, examining it. It was a round loaf of bread. It appeared to be made of cruxite, but strangely enough still smelled like a freshly-baked loaf of bread.

Not wanting to spend another moment on the roof, stuck out in the pouring rain, Gino started hurrying back towards the ladder. Unfortunately, as Gino started to make his way over to the ladder, a meteorite came howling out of the sky, slamming into the earth somewhere to the north. It had been close, this time…less than two miles away.

The shockwave caused Gino to lose his balance when he hit a slippery patch on his roof, and he went down. He was able to avoid striking his head on the roof, but he lost his grip on the cruxite bread. It flew from his grasp, bounced once across the roof, twice…and then vanished over the edge of the roof.

"Fuckin' goddamn _shit!_" Gino let loose with a stream of profanity as he scrambled back to his feet and peered over the edge of the roof. He could see the cruxite loaf of bread down on the ground, resting in one of the bushes that surrounded the apartment complex. He then glanced over his shoulder at the cruxtruder.

_Two minutes_.

Still swearing enough to make a sailor wince, Gino clambered down the ladder back into the upstairs hallway, ignoring the yellow kernelsprite, which followed him into the house. He ran into his Dad at the top of the stairs. Mr. Caiazzo was standing still, gawking at the ladder that, until very recently, had not existed. "Hey, where'd that fuckin' ladder come from?" Dad asked, pointing with both index fingers, a look of pure bewilderment on his face. "I've only had one beer today, so I know for damn sure it ain't a hallucination."

"Don't worry about it, Dad." Gino brushed past his Dad, flying down the stairs at the speed of light.

"Wait a sec, Troublemaker!" Dad called after his son. "Where'd the pizza go?"

"It's on my bed, help yourself!" Gino shouted back, not wasting any time. He reached the ground floor and sprinted through the den, ripping open the front door and plunging straight back into the rain. He glanced up to the dark, low-hanging storm clouds, as if he could see the meteorite that was possibly about to wipe out his house.

Not thinking about how much time he had left, Gino sprinted around the corner of the apartment complex and retrieved the cruxite bread from the bushes. Once he had the artifact, he hightailed it back into his house.

There wasn't any dramatic figuring out of how to use the artifact, no great revelations, or anything like that. Gino was in a rush. He sprinted back inside, shrugged out of his jacket, and gripped the yellow cruxite bread in both hands…

…and, after taking one last, deep breath, he broke it, as if he were a priest presiding over communion.

The door and windows were obscured with a sudden, almost blinding yellow light that Gino could not see through. He noticed that he could no longer hear the rain pounding against the house, nor the thunder growling overhead. And when the yellow light vanished…Gino glanced through the window and was shocked to find that he was no longer looking out at Lincoln Highway or Downingtown. Instead, all he saw was a vast expanse of grasslands. There was a thin veil of steam that hung in the low sky, fed by hundreds of geysers and hot water springs that dotted the landscape.

Before Gino could really take in his new surroundings, however, he was interrupted by a violent explosion of profanity that was coming from upstairs. The voice didn't belong to his Dad, however…it sounded like an incredibly angry guy with an overblown Italian Brooklyn accent. Well...not _too_ much like Gino's Dad. Mr. Caiazzo's accent wasn't quite so over the top.

Gino frowned, climbing the stairs. The loud swearing was coming from his bedroom. When he entered his room, he nearly pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Hovering in midair was a cheese pizza. It was nearly transparent, and composed entirely out of yellow energy, just like the apparition of that cruxite priest. And even though it had no mouth, it was swearing up a storm.

"Dad, what the fuck did you do?" Gino exclaimed, nearly retrieving one of the weaponized pizzas from his strife specibus that he never brought out unless he was strifing with his Dad.

"I was just eatin' some of the fuckin' pizza, then this crazy light comes straight at me, collides with the pizza, and… _Poof._" Mr. Caiazzo shrugged haplessly. "Magic talkin' pizza. You, uh… You played the Skaianet game, didn't ya?"

"Yeah, that's why all the meteorites have been fucking everything up," Gino replied, still warily staring at the pizzasprite.

"_Hey, asswipes! I'm still fuckin' here!_" Pizzasprite finally seemed to notice that he was being ignored. "Least you can do after creating me is to at least _pretend_ I still fuckin' exist!"

"Hey, pizza, c'mon!" Gino tried to calm Pizzasprite down, though he himself would admit that he was terrible at getting people to relax. "Chill out. Just take a deep breath, and-"

"_Fuck. You._" Pizzasprite glowed a brighter shade of yellow, pulsing almost pure white on each word. "Pizza? Am I really the best fuckin' thing you could come up with to prototype with the kernelsprite? My entire existence is a goddamn fuckin' _joke_. I am a sentient pizza. I am a sentient pizza telling you to go _fuck yourself_. What's wrong with this shittastic picture, you ask? The answer, asswipes, is every-_fuckin'_-thing!"

Gino blinked several times, almost in some form shellshock from the whole tirade, shared a glance with his Dad. He was surprised his hair hadn't been blasted backwards.

"Heh... I like the little guy," Mr. Caiazzo chuckled, completely dissolving the tension like he always did.

In spite of himself, Gino couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, me too!"

Pizzasprite started to glow a really violent shade of yellow-white. "I swear to fuck I'm gonna kill you both in your fuckin' sleep."


	49. V Chapter 49: Flipside

Chapter Forty-Nine: Flipside

Cruz yawned as he woke up. There were always two things he did whenever he woke up. First, he looked to see if his room was normal, or if it existed only in shades of cyan—he wanted to determine if he was waking up either in his home, or in his dream tower on Prospit's moon. After determining that he was awake and not dreaming, Cruz then plucked the joint from behind his ear, which he had rolled the previous night.

He rolled a joint every night before bed, so when he woke up he could immediately start smoking it, before he started to feel too sober. He had been doing this since he was little, and had he not been constantly stoned every hour of every day, he might have questioned his apparent aversion to sobriety. But he _was_ stoned every hour of every day, and so the introspective questions were never asked.

Cruz lit up the joint as he hopped out of bed. He glanced at the time on his watch, giving a quiet chuckle. After Anna had dropped in the Sburb entry machines, Cruz had been very quick about creating his cruxite artifact, which happened to be an orange cruxite cigar. He'd had to bite the cigar and start smoking it to trigger the entry process.

Cruz's kernelsprite had ended up getting accidentally prototyped with one of the small Santa statues that his Abuelita liked to decorate the house with, regardless of what the time of year was. It hadn't been very helpful—there was a limit to how helpful a spirit guide could be considered to be if all it says is '_ho ho ho!_'

After entering the Medium, Cruz had taken a bong rip or two, and then went to bed to take a little nap. All this running around, escaping meteors, apocalyptic storms…it was tiring! And Cruz just felt like being a lazy tard for a little bit—after passing through the hell of Sburb's entry phase, he felt he deserved it!

Then, after playing some Xbox in his dream tower on Propsit, Cruz had woken back up to the sound of birdsong. After taking his first few drags, Cruz shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. He filled a pot with water and set it on the stovetop. He then pulled a pack of chicken-flavor ramen noodles from the pantry, setting it down on the counter while he waited for the water to boil.

Cruz wandered out of the kitchen and headed into the front hall. Scratching an itch under his goatee, the teenager opened the front door and stepped outside, taking in a deep breath through his nose. His house and the yard immediately surrounding it had been transported to the top of a butte that towered over the rest of the landscape, offering a breathtaking view. The only familiar part of this new environment was the Mountain; the small hill next to Cruz's house, just on the bank of the lake where the Frog Temple had been. It had obviously been transported into the Medium alongside Cruz's house.

There were wide swathes of woods, trees with red and yellow leaves. There were streams and colorful flowers, large fields of greenish plants, birds flitting through the sky… There were also strange, glowing orbs of lights that hovered not high up off the ground, floating wherever the breeze carried them. And in the sky, Cruz could spot colorful hazes that resembled the aurora borealis, lending to the illusion that the sky itself was constantly rippling, constantly changing color. The other odd feature was the multi-colored smoke that wisped into the sky from subterranean vents, adding to the ambient color of the landscape.

And even though Santasprite was a less than helpful guide, Cruz already knew what this world was. The Land of Lights and Smoke. LOLAS, for short. He'd learned that during his dreams on Prospit.

Cruz grinned as he watched the orbs of light drift through some of the woods in the near distance, a smile slowly lighting up his face. "Now that's some trippy shit," he giggled, taking another hit from his joint, exhaling the smoke towards the sky. Then he noticed Santasprite out of the corner of his eye, hovering next to one of the bay windows. "You think that's some trippy shit, Santasprite?"

Santasprite pulsed with a bright amber light, the pompom at the end of his hat producing a small shower of orange sparks. "_Ho, ho, ho!_" he chuckled, showing off his broad vocabulary.

"Yeah, I figured you did…" Cruz took another hit, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the pleasant, massage-like sensation around his temples and the back of his head. "Don't let any monsters in, aight?"

"_Ho, ho, ho!_"

Cruz went back into the house, returning to the kitchen. By now, the water had started to boil, so Cruz dumped the ramen into the pot. He stirred it with a wooden spoon, humming quietly to himself. The first time he heard something clang upstairs, he didn't give it much thought. He was happily stoned, and he had ramen noodles that were just about finished cooking. Life was good, right now.

But then he heard it again, a crashing noise that sounded like something shattering. Cruz's eyes flicked upwards briefly, as if he could see what was causing the commotion just by looking at the ceiling. He then turned off the burner and dumped the ramen noodles into a bowl, adding the flavor packet and stirring it all in.

Then he left the kitchen and headed upstairs, following the weird noises. Several of his Abuelita's Santa statues lay in pieces in the upstairs hallway, and he could hear the sound of tearing coming from his Abuelita's room. Frowning slightly, Cruz made his way down the hall and stepped through the master bedroom door.

One of the windows in Cruz's grandma's room was open, and there were three small, black creatures wreaking havoc on the bed. They tore stuffing from the pillows, ripped holes through the sheets, sent Santa statue crashing to the floor… The creatures were small, maybe three or four feet tall, slightly hunched over. They had a hard, black exoskeleton, sharp claws, glistening, pointed teeth, and mischievous leers.

They were imps, the smallest and weakest of the underlings. Cruz stared at them from the doorway, his joint hanging lazily from his mouth, unsure of how to react. "Hey…" he murmured, stepping into the master bedroom. "You, uh…you guys wanna ease up a bit?"

The three imps all whipped around, gazing at him with their beady little eyes. Then, before Cruz could react, all three of them leaped off the bed and rushed him. Cruz could only giggle as his joint went flying and he was tackled by the imps—this was hilarious to him. Well, hilarious until one of the imps started to sink its teeth into his thigh.

"Fuckin'…fuckin' _ouch, _man!" Cruz exclaimed, climbing back to his feet and prying the imp off his leg. "What was that for, little guy?"

When the other two imps started swiping at him with their claws, Cruz quickly jumped back out of the room and shut the door behind him. He could hear the imps banging and scratching at the door, but it would be a while until they were able to force their way through. Cruz backed away from the door, turning back around when he heard more noise coming from downstairs.

Cruz hurried back down the stairs, finding the front door open and more imps pouring inside. "Yo Santasprite, what did I say about letting monsters inside?" he hollered out through the open doorway as he passed it by.

"_Ho, ho!_" the faint reply from outside was.

But, as annoying as the imps coming in through the front door were, that wasn't what was causing Cruz alarm—it was the noise coming from the kitchen that was making him worry. He hurried back into the kitchen…and nearly wept when he saw another imp throwing the bowl of ramen noodles off the counter, and then proceeding to devour them off the floor.

"Aw, c'mon, little guy! That was my lunch!" Cruz complained. There were five or six other imps skittering about the kitchen, raising a ruckus, but he only had eyes for the sad remains of his ramen noodles. He then had to rapidly exit the kitchen after the imps started to swarm him. Cruz, disliking physical violence, had no strife specibus, so he couldn't just pull a weapon from thin air like his friends could.

That meant he had to be smart around these underlings.

_I need another joint,_ Cruz thought to himself, remembering that he'd lost his first one. Evading the underlings who'd just ruined his lunch, Cruz headed to the front hall and went back upstairs, going straight to his bedroom. As he looked for his wallet sylladex to retrieve his supply of bud, Cruz noticed that the PalHassle icon on his computer was blinking. Someone was trying to contact him.

Cruz sat down at his computer desk and opened up PalHassle, curious who it was.

It was Adam.

* * *

><p><em>-anomalousThespian began hassling conquistadorsAshes-<em>

AT: hey  
>AT: cruz<br>AT: you there?  
>CA: yeah bro im so here<br>CA: im like  
>CA: the here-est of them all<br>CA: …  
>CA: heh<br>AT: are you…?  
>AT: fuck it, never mind.<br>AT: you get into the session yet?  
>AT: the medium<br>AT: whatever the hell cass called it; you get in?  
>CA: ya bro<br>CA: i got in  
>CA: went all kevin flynn on this motherfucker<br>CA: got me a sprite and everything  
>AT: yes, wonderful.<br>AT: you know what you're supposed to do?  
>AT: you're supposed to build up my house to the first gate?<br>CA: yeah bro i got you  
>CA: i just gotta go make these imps chillax aight<br>AT: you know anything about sprites, dude?  
>AT: i mean, you seem to know a lot about this game, already…<br>CA: yeah man i know shit about the sprites  
>CA: question is<br>CA: what do u know about the sprites  
>AT: …well, obviously not enough, if i'm asking you something about them.<br>AT: i spoke with cass  
>CA: o yea bro did u guys go on ur date<br>CA: the one theo set up for u saturday nite  
>CA: howd that go<br>AT: the world blew up, cruz; we didn't get the chance.  
>AT: <span>anyway<span>…  
>AT: i speak with Cass, and she tells me to prototype my sprite with something living or previously alive;<br>AT: something reasonably sentient, mind you.  
>AT: and my murdered dream self, minus an intact throat, is suddenly dumped into my bedroom.<br>CA: whoa man hit the brakes for a sec  
>CA: whats this about ur murdered dream self<br>CA: ur dream self is fine bro  
>CA: i just saw it a minute ago in ur dream tower<br>CA: sleepin like a fuckin baby  
>AT: how could you see it a minute ago? you were sleeping a minute ago?<br>CA: naw man  
>CA: i find myself on prospit sometimes if i smoke too much<br>CA: …  
>CA: i think i smoked a bowl too many this afternoon<br>CA: haha which reminds me  
>CA: i saw u in the clouds again u fuckin angel<br>CA: u were a fuckin angel dude hahahaha  
>CA: so fuckin weird<br>AT: yeah, about that…  
>AT: and wait, why the fuck are you looking at my sleeping dream self?<br>AT: actually, fuck it.  
>AT: never mind.<br>AT: as i was saying, shenanigans happen, and my dead dream self ends up prototyped with the eaglesprite—it'd already been merged with my roman eagle sculpture.  
>AT: my dream self was definitely sentient, definitely 'previously-alive', just like cass wanted.<br>AT: and it tries to fucking murder me when all i do is speak two words to it.  
>AT: and my sprite, it still has the wings.<br>AT: and feathers. it has fucking feathers, too.  
>AT: there is a glowing red sprite-version of me combined with an eagle rampaging around somewhere.<br>AT: there is your fucking angel that you see in prospit's clouds.  
>AT: my fucked-up spriteeagle clone.  
>CA: naw dude prospit dont have any clouds<br>CA: those are skaian clouds dude from skaia  
>CA: and when i saw u in the clouds u werent glowin red dude<br>CA: and ur dream self aint fuckin dead either so  
>CA: i dunno what u want me to say<br>AT: i dunno… i guess i was only curious as to why prototyping my dream self would create a psycho.  
>AT: well, it doesn't really matter at this point, now, does it?<br>AT: oh, shit, gotta go.  
>AT: tami just signed on and i've been meaning to talk to her.<br>AT: oh, i almost forgot. can you do me a favor?  
>CA: yeah bro what do ya need<br>AT: i just need you to deploy the punch designix from the phernalia registry.  
>AT: put it somewhere upstairs, preferably.<br>AT: and move the cruxtruder upstairs, too.  
>CA: aight i have it…<br>CA: uh…  
>CA: ok i just set it down on the balcony outside ur window<br>AT: can you build a bridge from my window to the balcony, real quick?  
>CA: already done<br>AT: whoa, what the hell was that?  
>CA: sorry dude i just made ur roof flat<br>CA: made a bit more noise than i thought it would  
>CA: ok i just put the cruxtruder down on the roof<br>CA: here ill make u a ladder  
>CA: there we are<br>AT: great, cruz, thanks a bunch.  
>CA: aight bro later<br>CA: ill start building ur house once i deal with these imps

_-anomalousThespian is no longer hassling conquistadorsAshes-_

* * *

><p>Cruz signed out of PalHassle. That had taken a bit longer than he'd expected, having to move the entry machines around Adam's house, but he wasn't in any rush. He got up from his computer and looked around the bedroom for his wallet sylladex…but he couldn't find it anywhere.<p>

"Must've dropped it…" Cruz murmured, realizing that the last place it had been was his back pocket, which was now empty. Which meant that it must have fallen out in his Abuelita's bedroom. "Gotta go deal with those little guys, again…"

Cruz grabbed a lighter and pocketed it, walking out into the upstairs hallway. Thankfully, none of the imps downstairs had made their way up the staircase, yet, so the hall was clear. Cruz moved warily towards the door to his Abuelita's bedroom, as if he were afraid it would leap out and bite him like the creatures behind it would.

Curiously enough, Cruz could not hear the imps on the other side of the door. Before, they'd been making all kinds of racket, but now… There was silence.

When Cruz gently edged open the door, he took one look inside and nearly burst out into laughter. The three imps were all sitting on their asses, leaning against the front of the bed. Their eyes were glassy, and one of them had its tongue hanging out of its mouth. The imp on the left had Cruz's still-smoking joint in its mouth. As Cruz watched, the imp exhaled the smoke and let the joint be plucked out of its mouth by the imp in the middle, who proceeded to take another hit of its own.

There were underlings getting stoned in his Abuelita's room. Now, Cruz was certain he'd seen it all.

Cruz walked into the room and found his wallet sylladex lying on the floor, sitting down and grabbing it. As he retrieved some of his vast quantities of bud from the sylladex to roll another joint, he looked up and made the peace sign with his fingers to the imps, his smile widening. "You guys are probably feelin' pretty awesome right now, am I right?"

The imp in the middle, who still had the joint, blinked once. Then it cocked its head and lifted a hand, doing its best to raise two of its claws. Cruz saw that it was trying to mimic his peace sign, and that just made his day. "Right on, dude, right on! I knew you guys had some chill in you! Like fuckin'…fuckin' sour-patch kids, you know? First they're all crazy, like _whoa, man, whoa!_ An' then they're all chill. Thanks for being my sour-patch imps."

The imp in the middle gave a slow nod, a lazy grin on its face as it passed the joint over to the imp on the right. As he watched the imps get high, an idea worked its way into the hazy, light-filled playground that was Cruz's mind. He got to work, sitting cross-legged and grinding up a good amount of the bud he'd taken out of his sylladex. Within two minutes, Cruz had four freshly-rolled joints arrayed on the floor behind him.

Cruz kept one joint for himself, but gave the other three to each of the imps. "Okay, little guys, stand up!" he said to them, energetically gesturing with his arms for them to rise. One by one, they all got to their feet, swaying slightly as they got used to the world moving around them. Then Cruz gestured for them to follow him. When they went back out into the hallway, Cruz turned to his followers. "Okay, now I want you to light these bad boys up and give 'em to your friends downstairs. Spread the love, little guys!"

The imps made their way downstairs, obviously able to understand Cruz's instructions, somehow. He'd always had a way with animals—one time, when he was seven years old, Cruz had actually managed to get a deer in his backyard to let him ride on its back. That was just the most extreme example—he couldn't actually _talk_ to animals, but they always seemed to understand the general idea of what he was trying to tell them.

The same obviously held true for these underlings. After the three imps went downstairs to get their friends as baked as they were, it wasn't much longer than ten minutes until all the ruckus below quieted down, and Cruz could relish in the powerful scent of burning marijuana.

"Fuckin' weed, man…" Cruz giggled, lighting up his own joint and taking a deep hit. "Brings all the crazy motherfuckers together."

* * *

><p>I watched Adam hit the ground after plummeting about a hundred feet from the top of his built-up house all the way to the front yard. He'd gone up against the two ogres that guarded his first gate, and…well, let's just say the score for right now was Ogres: 1, Adam: 0.<p>

I couldn't help but shake my head—had I really been so useless in a fight? It wasn't like this was all that long ago…not much more than a month in the past, from my perspective.

And yeah, I'd finally remembered what my name was. Well, maybe not so much _my_ name…but you know what I mean. Adam Tarrant. How could I have forgotten it? How could I have gone so long without remembering it? I decided to stop thinking about that—after spending several hours sobbing in the rainclouds, my thoughts had finally settled a little bit. I was no longer in danger of being subsumed by the eagle's consciousness, though I could still feel it fighting against me…

I could see images of battles—thousands of soldiers wearing armor, wielding short swords and large shields, fighting in tight formation against droves of wild men with blue paint. I had memories of snow-covered forests I'd never been to, the interiors of tents with people I'd never met, a giant wall that overlooked a wilderness to the north…

I shook my head as I descended towards my house, forcing the eagle's memories apart from my own. I did my best to keep them separate, but they always managed to sneak up on me like that… I started to get the feeling that, when my Sis told me she'd bought my eagle statuette from a random gift shop, she probably hadn't been telling the whole truth. How could an eagle statuette from a gift shop give me memories like that?

There were dozens of underlings—imps and ogres—scaling the sides of the butte my house had materialized on top of, as well as streaming out of my house itself. All of them were converging on Adam, who was lying sprawled on the front lawn, unconscious. If he didn't get some help, and _now,_ then he'd be imp-chow.

Just looking at Adam threatened to send me over the edge again, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm. I folded my wings back and let myself shoot straight down towards the ground, slicing right through the rain and wind as if I were a bullet fired from a high-power rifle. Then just before I hit the ground, I flared my wings to their full span, arresting my fall. My mouth opened and I let out an ear-splitting screech as I sent a roaring inferno of flame slamming down into the ground below me, incinerating the ogre that was in my way so that I could land safely.

I crouched over Adam's body and let out another screech as I formed some of my own sprite energy into a Bowie knife; my favorite weapon. The oncoming imps actually drew back a few paces, made hesitant by my avian outburst. But the effect was only momentary—within two seconds, they were right back on my ass.

Unfortunately for them, this was the first real chance since my forced revival that I've had to vent my anger on something tangible, and these underlings learned that firsthand. I flexed my fingers—warped and mutated as they were—and swiped the first imp to jump at me, opening its throat with my talons. Two more imps followed suit; one ended up on the wrong end of my energy Bowie for its trouble, and I took off the head of the second with a blast of flame.

I kept the underlings away from Adam, cutting down any who came too close, but…as I went through more and more underlings, I found that I was kind of zoning out. One moment I would be dodging an ogre's fist, and then the next I'd suddenly find myself flying through the air, bathing dozens of the little shits in flame. Then I'd have to pull myself back to reality, until the cycle repeated itself.

It was the eagle's consciousness. It sensed a fight, and now it was struggling to get to the surface. And when it was able to do so, I would lose control, coming back to my senses in the middle of a mindless rampage—twice, I nearly killed Adam by accident because the eagle was trying to take control. My frustration was growing.

I weaved my way through the remaining imps and ogres, focusing much more on maintaining control of my own mind as I took them down with fast, well-aimed strikes. I tried to refrain from using fire, now—the eagle tended to take control whenever I used my fire…probably because I had to focus on the Force Aspect to invoke fire, and that detracted from my level of focus on keeping the eagle subdued.

And so, I used my knife. And when I couldn't use my knife, I flexed my talons and ripped their goddamn faces off. I tore through the remaining underlings until there was just one lone ogre left. This ogre was wary of me, and it didn't openly rush me…so, instead, I attacked _it_. I buried my talons into the ogre's shoulder and gave a powerful flap of my wings, sending me swinging around the ogre's side and onto its back. I then gripped my Bowie and thrust it up through the back of the ogre's neck, straight into its brain.

The large underling dropped without a sound.

I whipped back around, talons outstretched, wings twitching, my eyes jumping from one direction to the next at the speed of light, searching for my next target. I could hear more underlings on the way, but…but for now, I'd managed to clear the front yard. Gradually, I stopped seeing red at the edges of my vision.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, saw that Adam had regained consciousness. Good—he needed to get on his feet before the underlings came back. I wouldn't be able to hold back another wave without taking wounds, or accidentally hurting him in some way. It was a minor miracle that I hadn't fucked up already.

"Get up," I said to Adam, gesturing for him to get back on his feet.

But Adam was having none of it. "I can barely move, you fucktard!" he shouted right back.

Disgust filled me, and I could actually feel my lip curl. I could remember this, from my time in the dream bubble. I remembered lying on the ground in agony with my Sprite hollering at me to get the fuck up…and it puzzled me how I could've acted this way. How could I have been such a whiny little bitch?

"You're a goddamn Knight," I could hear myself snarling, repeating the advice that would eventually become my mantra. "Knights can get sliced up within an inch of their lives, and they can _still_ keep right on going. So get. The fuck. _Up!_" My voice grew louder with each syllable until I was practically screaming in his face.

Adam bit back a harsh retort and decided to suck it up, struggling to his feet. I relented a tad bit and threw one of my former waking self's arms over my shoulder, helping him into the house. I slammed the front door shut behind me. We climbed staircase after staircase, constantly making our way up through the dozens of floors that had been added to my house by Cruz, who was Adam's server player.

The roof was over a hundred feet off the ground, just below the first gate, and I was almost starting to feel a bit tired by we reached the top. Adam was walking on his own by then, so we both went out onto the roof separately. Those two ogres who'd knocked Adam off the roof were still there, still guarding the first gate, daring Adam to come after them.

Well, now Adam had some backup. Some angry, half-eagle, clinically-insane backup. We split up when we reached the roof, each of us going after one of the ogres. My vision began to dilate as I went after my ogre; the eagle was struggling with me, again. I dealt with this ogre quickly—dodged one blow, then the next. I bared my talons and tore a sizable gash into one of the underling's upper legs, causing it to falter.

Then I grabbed one of the ogre's tusks and leaped behind it, bringing my energy knife around to the underling's neck, drawing a harsh line across its throat with it. The ogre took a couple stumbling steps, making a horrible gurgling sound as it choked on its own blood before finally collapsing.

My stomach twisted for a moment when I looked at my handiwork, already wishing I hadn't slit the underling's throat. I ran a few fingers across my own throat, wincing as I felt the wound that had killed me, back when I was just a normal old dream self. Flashes of old memories flitted through my mind—a dark, bloody knife, the empty gaze of the White Guardian, the tears of the White Queen…

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to block those memories out. Then the eagle sensed my moment of weakness and tried to go in for the kill. I felt a strong desire to fly away from the roof and go hunting for small animals, to get away from all the loud, obnoxious creatures that were gravitating to this house.

_Adam Tarrant. My name is Adam Tarrant. My name is Adam Tarrant…_

I repeated that to myself several times, until the eagle's memories stopped trying to drown out my own. It helped to know who I was. I looked back over to the other side of the roof, just in time to see Adam decapitate the other ogre with a sudden blast of fire. I remembered that, too—one of the very first times I'd been able to summon fire with my Aspect.

Adam had gotten the shit kicked out of him by that ogre. There was a fresh bruise on his jaw, and he appeared to have broken a rib or two. He lay semi-conscious on the ground, looking around with glazed-over eyes.

The contempt I'd been feeling didn't go away. "I can't believe I was really this incompetent against ogres…" I muttered.

But enough of that. Time to wrap up business. To be honest, the eagle's consciousness wasn't the only thing cluttering up my mind. Ever since I was revived, I realized that I suddenly…_knew_ things…things about the incipisphere, about Sburb that I hadn't known before. It was knowledge that had never been shared with me; I just suddenly possessed it, now.

It was the knowledge of the inner workings of the incipisphere that was imparted to all sprites—it was how sprites were able to function as guides to the players. Almost like having an instruction manual downloaded directly into my brain—fuckin' "_I know Kung-fu,_" and all that shit. And one of those acquired sprite factoids was my sprite pendant—I had, in my possession, a sprite pendant that I was bound to, and I was supposed to give it to Adam so that he could summon me if he needed my help.

Yeah, I'd rather eat rusty nails before binding myself to Adam, but it was something I had to do. I tried to ignore it, but the sprite knowledge started to irritate me, becoming like an itch I couldn't scratch. If I continued to ignore the compulsion to give Adam the pendant, I knew it would've just gotten a hundred times worse.

And so, I dried my eyes and flew down from the rainclouds, just in time to see the useless shit get his ass handed to him by those two ogres.

I folded my wings and hovered over to where Adam lay, keeping my expression blank as I looked down at him. I cleared my throat. "You obviously can't talk right now, so I'll make this brief. I'm sorry I tried to kill you back there… I'm just going through some really fucked up mental shit, after what Cass just did to me… Look it's nothing personal, but I just can't be around you for a while." I paused for a moment, then reached into my own body, right about where my heart should have been, and pulled out my sprite pendant. I lifted Adam's head, slipping the amber-colored pendant around his neck. "Here, I'm not supposed to give you this yet, but if you ever need a hand…"

I couldn't help but frown, remembering from my time in the dream bubble all the frustration I'd suffered because my Sprite had abandoned me…because I was about to abandon _him_. But there was nothing to be done. I couldn't change what happened, not unless I wanted us to spiral off into a doomed timeline. I decided instead to offer some parting words of encouragement that I knew Adam would forget. But still…it was _something_.

"Don't worry, though," I said to him. "If what I remember actually happened, you'll get along just fine without me. Just like everyone else…"

And with that, I leaned down and gathered Adam up in my arms, taking care not to jostle his broken ribs. Then I unfolded my wings—with a single, powerful flap, I propelled myself straight up into the first gate. There was a blinding flash of red light, and I felt a bit of a headache. Then I emerged from the gate in a clearing, somewhere in the middle of the Knightswood.

I left Adam where he lay. It would not be long until he was found by Glimmering Scales and Burning Dusk…and, to be perfectly honest, I didn't want to see them. One more reminder of the life that didn't belong to me…

I flew straight up, spearing through the rainclouds until I could see the darkness of space up above me. In the distance, Skaia shined like a sun, and I knew Prospit was out there, too. But then I turned my gaze off to the right, where I was able to barely glimpse at another planet. It was the exact same size as mine, a vast portion of it covered with greenish thunder clouds.

The Land of Thunder and Dwarves. Cass's planet.

My anger started to return, and the eagle within my mind started to screech. The eagle snuck around my mind and basically hijacked my central nervous system, causing my wings to beat, and I set off towards the neighboring world. I didn't fight the eagle on this one, though, because I was heading in the direction I wanted to go.

I had a bone to pick with Cass.


	50. V Chapter 50: Riot Watch

Chapter Fifty: Riot Watch

The Authority Regulator disliked the Archagent's office.

He reclined in the chair, tapping hesitantly on the armrest with his nightstick. The Archagent's office was in a prime location—the top of the Amethyst Tower, a place where almost every Enforcer aspired to be. Being a high-ranking Agent himself, as Chief of Enforcement, the Regulator had an office of his own just a few stories below. It wasn't a cushy office, but certainly nothing to turn one's nose up at.

And now, here he was, at the top of it all. The Archagent had gone off-world to one of the eight planets, on some sort of mission for the Black Queen. And while normally that would have left the Draconian Dignitary in charge…the Dignitary, as it turned out, was _also_ sent off-world to one of the eight planets. And then, to top it all off, the Authority Regular had heard through the grapevine that the Courtyard Droll and the Hegemonic Brute had been sent on a covert mission to Prospit and had not been seen or heard from in the past twelve hours.

Something was amiss, the Regulator could feel it in his spine. There was a tingle in the air that he did not like. He was a man of the law. Whatever the cost, order had to be maintained…and now the Regulator feared that the order and stability he had strived so hard to maintain was about to be shattered.

The Authority Regulator did not like how insulated, how far removed the Archagent's office was from the streets below. Derse was an outwardly quiet city, but underneath the veneer of silence was a throng of life, and that life had a pulse to it. The Regulator had had his finger on that pulse for the past few millennia, preventing the Wrathful Veteran and his dissenters from stirring up too much chaos.

Whenever the Enforcers arrested a cell of dissenters, there were always two or three more that sprang up to take its place. But the Authority Regulator was always able to keep them in check. Now, though…the pulse of Derse was much harder to feel when the Regulator was cooped up in the top of the Amethyst Tower, far removed from the streets below.

Just as the Regulator was considering going out on a raid with one of the street units—bust up an underground gambling ring, or something else along those lines—the door to the Archagent's office was thrown open. The Regulator was startled by the sudden entrance, accidentally sending a stack of parking citations cascading off the desk onto the floor.

The Authority Regulator swore under his breath at the mess he was going to have to clean up, rising from his chair. The person who'd just walked into the office was a stern-faced, square-jawed Enforcer Commandant by the name of Arcturus. He wore a gray trench coat with black stripes on the shoulders and the Dersite Enforcement insignia emblazoned on the upper sleeves, gloves and boots, but no hat. He was the commandant of the Lunar Sector, which comprised of the four districts that made up the Obsidian Moon of Derse.

The Regulator had started his days in the Enforcers as a patrolman in the Lunar Sector after he completed his military service on the Battlefield. He went back a long way with Commandant Arcturus; after the Regulator's eventual promotion to a precinct Captain position within the Long Night District—the largest of the four lunar districts—Arcturus had served as his most trusted and capable shift lieutenant.

"Authority Regulator, the Nameless Chief of Enforcement…sitting now behind the desk of none other than the Archagent Jack Noir himself," Commandant Arcturus chuckled, closing the door behind him. "What is Derse coming to, eh?"

"Nothing good, I think," the Authority Regulator muttered, scooping the fallen parking citations off the floor and dumping them onto the desk in a haphazard pile. He knew he'd have to file them soon—if he left the Archagent's office in such a state of disarray, Noir was likely to use him as a practice dummy for his knives. "Too much happening that's above my pay grade. The Agents are restless. Understandable, I suppose, considering what happened last night."

Sensing that the Regulator was taking his joking remark a little too seriously, the Lunar Sector Commandant dropped his swagger and got down to business. "It's been a while since you've been to the Moon; things have gotten a little heated there," Arcturus said to his old friend. "After the Sylph's little midnight stroll down Seventeenth Avenue last night… Our surveillance posts have been reporting increased activity. The dissenters are at it again, old friend. Word on the grapevine is that the Wrathful Veteran will be attending a rally later this afternoon. The Wrathful Veteran. _In the flesh._ Get the picture?"

The Authority Regulator did get the picture. As fate would have it, the Authority Regulator and the Wrathful Veteran had actually served alongside each other in the ranks Dersite Commandos during the last great war, ten thousand years ago, when the Nobles had attempted to rally the consorts against the Black King. They had both fought in the Skaian Theatre of that war, long after the Cataclysm and the Nobles' resultant deaths, fighting for several centuries to keep the White King's forces from overrunning the Black Keep.

After his experiences in that war, the Wrathful Veteran had nursed a deep-seated hatred of the Dersite monarchs for the way the Dersite soldiers were treated as cannon fodder, and upon his homecoming he'd promptly begun a series of peaceful protests against the war on the Battlefield. He'd gotten the ridiculous idea into his mind to try and transform Dersite society from a monarchy into one that involved the commoners having a fair say in ruling themselves. He even had a word for it—democracy, or something equally ridiculous-sounding.

He'd preached his ideals to the people, successfully broadening their perceptions and initiating a worldwide call for reforms. That is, until the Black Queen forcibly shut down his operations by throwing many of his supporters into the Silent Dungeon in a purge of sorts, having them executed shortly thereafter.

Then the Wrathful Veteran lived up to his title, descending into wrath as his hatred of the Black Queen exploded into a black fury. He rallied the remaining dissenters who still followed him, armed them with equipment stolen from the military, and went underground, practically turning the Obsidian Moon into a warzone with all the crime and mayhem he stirred up—at that time, the Enforcers had been unarmed and ill-equipped; unable to effectively counter the Veteran's campaign of destruction, allowing the situation on the moon to remain highly destabilized for a long time.

Then the Veteran gradually started to go quiet, lying in wait for something that was beyond the Regulator's understanding. And after serving with distinction in ranks of the Enforcers for about six thousand years in the Lunar Sector, the fact that he'd never been able to catch up to the Wrathful Veteran remained the only thorn in the Authority Regulator's backside.

The point was that, since going underground, the Wrathful Veteran had never once been seen in the public eye. And for the past two millennia, or so, even his dissenters had not made any kind of move against the authorities. The Obsidian Moon had, more or less, fallen quiet. If the Veteran was going to make a public appearance this afternoon…it was not something the Authority Regulator could ignore.

The Regulator sheathed his nightstick and strapped his holstered energy pistol to his thigh, donning his black greatcoat and hat. "Fine, I'll bite. Where is this rally going to be held?"

"Greenflame Plaza," the Commandant replied.

The Regulator immediately recognized the name of the landmark—it was a very large square located within the district he'd served in during his early days in the Enforcers. "Long Night District… Who's the District Major there, these days? Rana, is it?" the Authority Regulator noted. Upon receiving a confirmatory nod from Commandant Arcturus, he went on. "I assume you've already ordered her to get her boys ready for action?"

"Her First Precinct Captain has two foot units on standby," Arcturus replied.

That gave the Regulator pause. "Two foot units? That's all?"

"An overly overt Enforcement presence might cause any kind of public gathering to go sour," the Commandant of the Lunar Sector started to explain, but he was cut off by the Regulator.

"The fucking Sylph woke up last night, Arc!" the Authority Regulator snapped, gesturing for the Commandant to follow him into the small transportalizer room behind the Archagent's desk. It was a small chamber, barely any bigger than a closet, and all it contained was a transportalizer pad. It was a master pad, however—able to connect with any other transportalizer pad on-world or on the Obsidian Moon. Luckily, the Regulator had memorized many of the codes for the various pads that were reserved for use by the Agents of Derse, allowing for quick transport to the moon.

"The Sylph woke up last night," the Authority Regulator repeated himself in a calmer tone as he keyed in the code for the Lunar Sector HQ transportalizer pad. "The dissenters have the public up in a simmer as it is, and it won't take much for a simmer to break out into a full boil. If the Wrathful Veteran shows his face, there's going to be mayhem no matter what. Two foot units is not enough—it's a goddamn powder keg out there."

The Lunar Sector Commandant chose his words carefully. "What would you consider to be enough, then?"

"Get back in contact with Major Rana," the Authority Regulator ordered. "I want all three shifts pulled for duty this afternoon. Send in the mounted units, but have them stay in their trucks until ordered to deploy—no need to spook the dissenters prematurely. I want all of Rana's remaining foot units to set up a tight perimeter around the First Precinct, and I mean _all_ of them. _None_ of the initial violence can be allowed to spread to the rest of the district; that will be crucial for minimizing damage. I want the rest of your sector on standby, as well-"

"Damnation, you'd think we were preparing for a Prospitian invasion! Mounted units? You sure you want the crushers involved in this?" Commandant Arcturus chuckled. When the Regulator shot him a withering glare, however, he wisely decided to cease his attempts at humor. The Regulator clearly was under a lot of stress, today. "I'll send out the orders immediately."

"Good." The Authority Regulator nodded. He then took a deep breath before stepping onto the programmed transportalizer pad, relenting on his old friend. He did not need to explain himself to a subordinate, but there were times when it could go a long way. "You remember how it was, Arc. I mean _before_ the Veteran's dissenters went quiet. It was chaos—a government building blown up every week, an Enforcement posting shot up every other day. We were taking losses on the moon, hard losses…and you know why?"

Commandant Arcturus shook his head as he stepped onto the transportalizer pad along with his superior. There was a brief flash of light, and then the two Dersites were stepping off another pad in the Lunar Sector Enforcement Headquarters transportalizer chamber.

The Lunar Sector Enforcement Headquarters was similar in layout to the lesser constabularies, only greater in size. It was no Amethyst Tower, however, nor did it need to be. Its interior comprised of largely unadorned hallways of gray metal and stone, though the offices where the detectives and lower-ranking Enforcers worked were a bit more personalized and less spartan. Arcturus's personal office was also located in this building.

"The threat of the Veteran is one we could have nipped in the bud long ago," the Authority Regulator continued, accompanying Arcturus out into the lobby, brushing through the bustling traffic of Enforcers and HQ staff, heading towards the stairs that led to the upper level. "When he first started his guerilla war, after the Queen's fuckup, you have to remember how our superiors would never take him seriously. _He's just foolish soldier,_ they said. _A fool who still thinks he's on the Battlefield_. All we could do was react to his attacks! We'd have patrol sergeants, shift lieutenants; even precinct captains, sometimes—good Enforcement who knew the streets, trying to get our shit together so we could crush that son of a bitch, trying to convince the higher-ups to give us the freedom to regain control of the Moon…only to be given a pat on the ass and ignored by the command echelon… We were trying to fight a widespread, organized rebel movement with nothing but nightsticks and unpleasant manners. We stood no chance."

"_Unnecessary expenditure of much-needed military resources,_" Commandant Arcturus chuckled, his white eyes distant as he relived old memories, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was there when you went behind the last Commandant's back and tried to get the old Chief of Enforcement to allow us access to military-grade equipment. That was the bullshit excuse he gave you before sending you out on your ass."

It was true. The Authority Regulator had been promoted to the position of District Major of the Long Night District, following the assassination of his predecessor at the hands of the dissenters. After many years of ramming his head into a brick wall when trying to deal with the old Lunar Sector Commandant, Arcturus's predecessor, the Authority Regulator had taken Arcturus and gone straight to the Amethyst Tower, complaining directly to the old Chief of Enforcement…only to receive the same treatment. He'd then gone even higher and done the unthinkable—he'd strode straight into Jack Noir's office and complained directly to the Archagent himself.

The only reason the Regulator was still alive today was because the Draconian Dignitary had also been present in Noir's office at the time. Noir's first impulse had been to stab the Regulator for disturbing him, for ignoring the chain of command, and for being too apparently incompetent to deal with the situation on the Moon by himself. But the Dignitary had calmed the Archagent down, kept him from stabbing the Regulator, made him see things a bit more reasonably…and the rest, as they say, was history.

"The fools should have armed us the moment the Wrathful Veteran blew up that first government building," the Authority Regulator grumbled as he pushed open the stairwell doors, stepping across the hallway alongside the Commandant, entering the chamber of cubicles on the other side. At the far end of the large room of cubicles, where detectives sat hard at work, was Arcturus's personal office. "You remember it…the Royal Post Office in the Third Precinct? All those workers…"

"Of course I remember it; I was one of the first-responders," Arcturus reminded his old friend. "And it wasn't really a post office; it was a military weapons cache. That was where the dissenters first got their hands on energy weapons."

The Authority Regulator continued to speak, barely acknowledging the Lunar District Commander's interjection. "If we'd had the proper support and equipment, we could have crushed the dissenters millennia ago, and the Veteran would be languishing in the slammer as we speak! But no… The Veteran was not taken seriously. We _allowed_ him to spearhead what would eventually become a widespread underground movement that still plagues us to this day; all because the higher-ups _underestimated_ him. Arrogant fools who underestimated what could be accomplished by an angry ex-commando with an agenda."

Commandant Arcturus opened the plexiglass door of his office, allowed the Regulator inside, closing the door behind them, shutting the blinds for good measure. "I think you've made your point, AR," he sighed, already wishing he hadn't cracked that joke about a Prospitian invasion. The Regulator could get pretty long-winded at times.

Arcturus sat behind his desk, inviting the Regulator to sit in one of the two chairs in front. He reached under his desk and offered the Regulator some brandy, but his superior declined.

As for the Authority Regulator—yes, perhaps he had already made his point, but he was not one to stop vocalizing a thought midway. But he was almost done. "If the Veteran wants to show his face, he is more than welcome to. But it will be different, this time around. _We_ are not our predecessors. _We_ will not underestimate him. When the Veteran stirs up trouble again, and I guarantee you he will…we'll come down on him and his followers so hard that they'll have to be scraped off our boots before we throw every last one of them into the Silent Dungeon."

* * *

><p>Theo wished he'd counted how many times he'd used his inhaler. Maybe then, he'd have some idea of how many uses it had left…<p>

Theo had felt a great relief upon entering the Medium. Understandable, considering the circumstances. From what his friends were saying, his house had been targeted by a meteorite…and he had just barely made it into the Medium before that meteorite had made landfall. His entire neighborhood had been completely wiped out. All his neighbors...gone.

Then winged underlings that resembled flying lizards—banshees, Deltasprite had called them—had completely swarmed Theo's house, driving him from the roof. Then, to make matters even _worse,_ the banshees had friends. There were much larger underlings that resembled giant flying, legged snakes—they had wickedly sharp teeth and claws, and they also happened to be able to breathe fire. Deltasprite had identified them as 'wyrms'. It had taken a massive effort on his part and Deltasprite's to fight his way through the swarms of banshees and wyrms and reach his first gate. But then they'd made it, emerging in a clearing somewhere in the middle of the forest that covered the surface of the Land of Fog and Shadow.

But it was only after the pure chaos of Sburb's entry phase wore off that Theo began to realize that there were a few logistical problems with being located in another dimension that he hadn't really given any thought until now. Did his house's water still work? What happened when he ran out of food? Perhaps the most problematic issue for Theo was what would happen when his inhaler was depleted. It wasn't like he could just find the nearest CVS and get his inhaler refilled… When his inhaler became useless, what would happen when he had another life-threatening attack?

Theo couldn't think about that, right now. That was simply a bridge he'd have to cross when he came to it; for now, he had to worry about not becoming underling-chow.

After accompanying Theo through the first gate into the forest, Deltasprite had then given him a bluish-green sprite pendant that seemed to radiate with a heat of its own—the sprite said that he wasn't able to accompany Theo beyond the first gate—the rest of Theo's quest was for Theo alone. But the sprite pendant could be used to summon him in a time of need. And with that, Deltasprite simply flew off, leaving Theo alone in a monster-infested forest. _Wonder-fucking-ful,_ Theo had thought to himself, watching his spirit guide soar up and away.

The forest floor was quite beautiful. Many of the vines that snaked up the tree trunks, the ferns and foliage that covered the ground…they appeared to be bioluminescent. Theo wasn't sure if they were like that all the time, or only in the dark. It did not really matter, in any case—the Land of Fog and Shadow's sky was obscured by a permanent layer of mist, so it was always dark.

Unfortunately, the forest floor also happened to be infested by swarms of imps, ogres, and God only knew what else. As a result, Theo did not get the chance to sit back and appreciate the beauty of the luminescent forest—he was constantly on the run. And for a severe asthmatic, being constantly on the run wasn't exactly ideal; though he hadn't kept track of how many times he'd had to use his inhaler, Theo knew he'd already gotten over half a dozen attacks.

Even now, as Theo sprinted his ass off towards a fist-shaped rock formation, seeking a place to hide from an oncoming horde of imps, he could feel that hated tightness beginning to grip his chest. As he reached the rock formation and pulled himself up into a ledge formed by the clenched 'thumb' of the fist-like shape that the rock formation held, he could barely take half a breath, and his mind was beginning to enter panic mode. There were thick shrubs that grew on the ledge, which effectively concealed Theo from view, but he had his malfunctioning respiratory system to worry about.

Theo got his inhaler out of his pocket and shook it, brought it to his lips, breathed in the ugly-tasting chemicals that somehow, despite being eraser-flavored, were able to reopen his lungs and save his life. The relief was immediate as Theo was able to take in full breaths, his body relaxing as the oxygen was carried to where it needed to go.

Theo took several breaths, getting his heart rate under control. He forced himself to fall silent as he heard the underlings catch up to him. Dozens of tiny, clawed feet, skittering across the ferns and leaves…dozens of chattering vocalizations… Theo craned his neck around the bush that he was lying behind, getting a look at what he was hiding from.

The swarm comprised mostly of imps—there was a single ogre that lumbered alongside them, but that was it. Even so…imps were easy to handle, but in numbers like this… And especially with Theo's lungs practically conspiring against him… No, fighting was not an option. He had to stay hidden.

Theo could feel his sprite pendant, warm against his chest. He briefly considered using it to summon Deltasprite, but…but in the end, he decided against it. He had no doubt that Deltasprite would help him out, but at the same time…he knew that if he wanted to win this game and make things right again, he'd have to start relying on _himself_ to get out of trouble.

The swarm of imps and its tag-along ogre parted as they skittered around the fist-shaped rock formation where Theo hid, and the forest fell silent once more within a minute. Then, once the underlings were long gone, the wildlife started to reemerge—rabbits and squirrels, as well as moths whose wings glowed a luminescent green, adding to the ambient, biological light of the forest.

Theo let out a sigh of relief, crawling out from his cover. After dusting himself off, he set back off into the forest. He was not simply blundering about the woods with no idea of where he was going—in the near distance, there was a tall mountain of pale rock that was visible, looming above the treetops.

Deltasprite had not left Theo completely lost in the woods; before leaving, the glowing blue spirit guide had offered Theo one last piece of advice: _Find the nearest mountain and head in that direction. And when you start to get close, make a lot of noise._

Theo had been on the run for a while, now, and the mountain in the near distance was finally beginning to draw close. Still, Theo did not feel like he was as close as Deltasprite would have wanted, so he pressed on. He moved at a jogger's pace, not sprinting unless he absolutely had to. If he'd tried sprinting the entire way, he'd have depleted his inhaler within an hour, and then he'd be dead anyway.

He was proud of himself, however. In all of his gym classes before high school, Theo had always had a bit of a competition of sorts with Adam whenever they did all the physical fitness tests—he'd reigned supreme over his best friend in nearly every one of them. Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups; Theo had been one of the best in his class. Despite being slightly overweight and appearing to be soft, he was remarkably strong. But when it came to the mile run, Adam would always kick his ass. Theo would consistently clock in at seven to eight minutes, which wasn't bad, but not particularly fast, either. Running was not his forte. But today, although he was not necessarily sprinting at the speed of light, he'd managed to keep on running at a good pace for a very long time. He was proud of himself, and he felt Adam would have been proud, too.

Theo stopped twice to catch his breath—on both occasions, he didn't _need_ to stop, but he knew that if he didn't take a quick breather, he'd cramp up. So, after resting for a second time against one of the trees, Theo got back to it, jogging in the direction of the nearby mountain. All was going well—he evaded another four or five swarms of underlings after the near-incident at Fist Rock—Theo's impromptu name for the landmark that had kept him safe. He'd been lucky, so far.

But luck was a fickle thing. Sometimes it just ran out.

Theo happened to stumble across a trio of imps who were fighting each other over a patch of what appeared to be some kind of luminescent mushrooms. Not for the first time, Theo took mental note of how a very large part of the forest was freakin' bioluminescent; that was obviously one of the 'themes' of this world, or whatever. These three imps were not on the move, nor were they in such large numbers as the swarms, so Theo did not know they were there until he was practically on top of them.

The three imps quickly forgot the contested mushrooms and bared their claws, leaping straight for Theo. Theo barely had time to backpedal and avoid getting gashed up by the imps' claws. He quickly retrieved his primary weapon from his strife specibus. It looked like a regular old baseball bat—not the glossy, sleek, professional-type bats; just a normal, everyday wooden bat. And for all intents and purposes, Theo supposed, it _was_ a regular old baseball bat…except for the fact that it was unbreakable. A gift from his grandmother; and how _she managed to find an unbreakable baseball bat, Theo didn't think he would ever know. It was his most prized possession, though. After his Gran tried time and time again to get him to strife with knives—her weapon of choice—Theo simply kept resisting her efforts. Knives hurt him, and he never felt the passion for them that his Gran did._

However, his Gran was able to see her dreams for Theo becoming a capable knife fighter resurrected within Adam, who'd been taught by his Sis…who Theo knew, in turn, had been taught by his Gran. He was like her knife-grandson, Theo sometimes mused to himself. And so, Gran was able to swallow her pride and allow Theo to find his own choice of strife specibus—he'd settled on Batkind, and his first birthday gift from his Gran thereafter had been the unbreakable baseball bat.

Theo felt some comfort in its familiar grip as the bat materialized in his hands. He brought his unbreakable bat swinging around in a sharp arc, slamming the leading imp in the side of its head, caving in its skull like it was made of sugar glass. A fitting display of Theo's physical strength. Within seconds of having its skull bashed in, the imp's corpse dissolved into a pile of grist, which promptly vanished into Theo's grist cache.

Theo sidestepped a flurry of swipes and lunges from the second imp—the smaller underling eventually lunged too far and left itself open to attack, at which point Theo thrust his bat forward, catching the imp under the ribs, knocking the wind out of it. He then withdrew the bat, only to bring it crashing back down onto the imp's head. Another sickening crunch. Another pile of grist.

Before Theo could kill the third imp, however, it let out a piercing screech. It was still howling even as Theo executed a final blow with his bat, its scream suddenly silenced with the impact of the weapon. While the third imp had been killed instantly, the damage was already done. A nearby swarm of imps, several dozen strong, had heard the third imp's alert, and Theo could hear them bearing down on him inside of five seconds.

Theo made his way into a clearing so that the imps could only approach him across open ground. He felt his stomach sort of sink as he saw how big the swarm was. No way he'd be able to take all of them on his own…and then, he could almost hear the final nail slide into the coffin when he saw an ogre emerge from the woods and into the clearing. He was fucked with all those imps coming his way, but with an ogre bearing down on him, too…

Theo greeted the first imp to attack him by dealing it a blow powerful enough to turn its face concave. The imps were disorganized in their attacks, and Theo was actually able to hold his own for nearly a minute. He whipped around and to his sides with incredible speed, striking out at any imp that came within range of his bat, eventually forming an ankle-deep ring of grist around him from all the underlings he was able to take down.

Surprisingly, things were actually going reasonably well, until Theo started to cough. His throat began to fill with mucus, and the familiar feeling of painful tightness gripped his chest. "_C'mon, not now…_" he growled under his breath. He was forced to hold his bat one-handed, barely managing to continue defending himself as he fumbled for his inhaler with his free hand. He was finally able to bring his inhaler to his mouth and relieve his symptoms, but at the cost of lowering his guard for a moment.

That was when the ogre stepped in, delivering a crushing blow to the side of Theo's head. Theo went down, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the mauling that was sure to follow, doing his best to ignore the pain that was rampaging through his skull. His eyes then snapped back open when he remembered that there was still help available to him. Fighting against the dizziness and disorientation that the blow to his head had left him with, Theo tried to reach under his shirt and retrieve his sprite pendant.

He never got that far. He could hear the ogre howling in pain as a winged, pale-blue reptilian creature suddenly descended on it from above, swiping its claws across the underling's eyes, effectively blinding it. But the winged creature was not finished—after blinding the ogre, Theo could make out two powerful jaws lined with incredibly sharp teeth, closing around the ogre's neck. The ogre's neck bent at an impossible angle between the jaws when they bore down, and it was impossible to ignore the loud _snap_ that accompanied the action.

The imps all scattered, fleeing from the winged creature as it leveled its head at them and let out an ear-splitting scream. It was only when it turned back to face Theo that he got a good look at what exactly the creature was…and the alarm that ran through his system quickly gave way to confusion.

No way was this possible. No way.

Theo was looking at a pterodactyl. Then his already-blurred vision went dark and he passed out.

* * *

><p>Theo opened his eyes and found himself back in bed…but his room was wrong. Everything was indigo-colored. The walls, floor, and ceiling, the bed, the desk and the computer, even the bed sheets; everything had turned various shades of indigo. He found he was also wearing weird purple pajamas, with the symbol of a crescent moon emblazoned on the shirt.<p>

Then he discovered that he could fly when he realized that he was already floating up and out of bed. Feeling a newfound resolve, Theo drifted over to the nearest window, looking out at a cityscape of dark, shadowy, violet and black towers, streets, and buildings. How strange… Theo had never seen this place, before. He had no idea where he was.

But, for some reason…he didn't really care, all that much. His stress was gone.

_Derse._ Theo remembered the name of the Kingdom of Darkness, located at the very edge of the incipisphere. His sprite had described it to him—Theo hadn't had the slightest idea what the spirit guide was talking about then, but now he started to understand.

As if in the middle of a dream, Theo allowed himself to float through the window and out into the sky. The altered, indigo version of his bedroom was located at the top of a very tall tower, many times taller than any other building in the surrounding city. The streets were not very busy, but Theo could hear noise coming from a distinct direction…the unmistakable din of many thousands of people gathering in one place.

Eventually, after flying down several streets, soaring between the towers and buildings, Theo found himself entering the sky above a large, open square. The square had a couple fountains and statues, but the most prominent feature was a simple obsidian brazier that was mounted atop a stone pedestal in the center of the whole place. Burning within the brazier was a bright green flame.

The square was filled with multiple thousand people. Dersites, with their hard black carapaces in place of skin. All of them gathered in this square to listen to a shorter guy standing on a raised platform in front of the green flame. The speaker wore a wide-brimmed fedora and a dark gray suit, and he was in the middle of addressing the gathered crowd.

Theo hadn't caught any of what the Dersite speaker had said before, but that didn't really matter—he was the subject of the very next thing the Dersite said. "And now, here's proof that I have not been deceiving you!" the Dersite speaker declared loudly to his listeners. "We have all heard the rumors that the Sylph awoke last night, but we now have evidence of the Heroes' return right in front of us! The Thane has arrived!"

The entire crowd fell silent, and Theo immediately began to feel squeamish as every pair of eyes in the square was turned onto him. He hadn't been expecting to be in any sort of spotlight. As he wondered whether or not he should say something, he was relieved to find that this was not the case. The crowd suddenly erupted, cheering Theo as if he were some sort of celebrity. Which, in a way, he _was_.

* * *

><p>At the Wrathful Veteran's latest statement, Major Rana raised her binoculars to her eyes and snapped her gaze over in the direction the Veteran had indicated. Sure enough, there was a strange sort of dark-skinned alien boy hovering in midair, dressed in purple pajamas, looking about a dozen different kinds of confused.<p>

Trepidation was the first thing Major Rana felt. The Thane was one of the eight Heroes—figures of mythology whose future arrival was prophesied by the consorts. Ever since the death of the Nobles, many Dersites had been skeptical of the existence of the foretold Heroes, Major Rana among them…and now here Rana was, looking at one of them with her own eyes. And this so-called Hero did appear to be the same species as the Sylph.

Rana turned to her Sergeant-in-Charge, a no-nonsense veteran by the name of Alaraph. "Raise the Commandant, Sergeant," the Long Night District Major ordered. "Inform him of what's happened. A Hero has just arrived at the rally."

Commandant Arcturus already knew, however. He was watching the whole thing unfold from the top of a nearby building, alongside the Authority Regulator. The two high-ranking Enforcers watched as the Wrathful Veteran continued to speak, watched as the crowd grew more and more unruly. They continued to cheer for the Thane, but gradually began to turn their attention to the foot units that had been stationed around the Plaza, showering the Enforcers with insults and abuse. The Enforcers securing the plaza tightened their grip on their nightsticks, all of them sharing nervous glances with one another. It was not long until one of the dissenters finally ended up causing the tension to snap by hurling some sort of object at one of the Enforcers—the Regulator thought it had been a bottle, or something similar.

The Enforcer went down, cut up by the broken glass. One of his comrades promptly drew his energy pistol and shot the dissenter who'd thrown the bottle, dropping the Dersite civilian where he stood.

And just like that, on the drop of the dime, the simmering crowd exploded. Having the Wrathful Veteran make an appearance like this was bad enough, but having one of the _Heroes_ arrive, coupled with the frenzy that always arose at the sound of gunfire…the Regulator could plainly see that this rally had just been a giant recipe for disaster. The unfortunate Enforcers who'd been securing the Plaza on the ground were overwhelmed by the masses—none of them even had the chance to draw their energy weapons before they were either rendered unconscious by thrown objects, or taken down by the sheer numbers of the dissenter mobs.

Having seen enough, the Authority Regulator turned to his subordinate and gave the order. "Alright, Arcturus, let's clean this shit-fest up before they get too organized. Have Major Rana send in the crushers."


	51. V Chapter 51: Peacekeeping

Chapter Fifty-One: Peacekeeping

It took me several hours of hard flying to reach the Land of Thunder and Dwarves, Cass's planet. I almost had tunnel vision as I shot through the empty darkness of the outer space that existed between planets; Cass's planet was the only thing I had eyes for.

The Land of Thunder and Dwarves was, true to the first part of its name, largely covered with greenish thunderclouds. I could see flashes of lightning, visible to the naked eye even from underneath the veil of storm clouds. Unlike the Land of Rain and Rivers, Cass's planet was not _completely_ wreathed in storms, but there still weren't a whole lot of areas that were having sunny weather. There were also hundreds, maybe thousands of what looked like large, floating islands scattered all over the sky, above the storm clouds. Some of them had multicolored forests and small mountains on their surfaces, while others were merely barren rock.

As I started to enter the stormy planet's atmosphere, I folded my wings close to my body, shooting straight down into the storm clouds at a steep angle. I kept this up as long as I could, but it was difficult—I was being tossed about like a ragdoll by all the conflicting wind currents. After a few seconds of this abuse, the eagle part of my mind shoved me aside and took over. I felt myself spread my wings and bank right, following the direction of the wind.

Lightning was flashing all around me, blinding me from several directions at once. I was being constantly pelted by rain. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was dark green haze. I was in the middle of the storm clouds; I couldn't see anything else. It might have been disorienting if I'd been flying through the clouds on my own, but now…well, I was part bird, after all. The skies felt like home.

I could somehow sense an updraft in front of me, so I stopped beating my wings, angling them so that I was able to simply glide right through the updraft of warm air. Beyond the updraft, though, was the corresponding downdraft. That was what I wanted—I rode the downdraft all the way to the bottom of the storm system, finally emerging from the thick, greenish storm clouds. I shivered a couple times, glad to be free of the chilly precipitation within the clouds.

I soared across the landscape, taking in the Land of Thunder and Dwarves as it rushed past below. The surface of the planet comprised largely of rolling hills and tall, golden-yellow grass. There were mountains made of a deep red stone scattered irregularly throughout the environment, and I could just barely spot what appeared to be the edge of a massive canyon complex off in the far distance.

Even though Skaia was obscured by the storm clouds, LOTAD still almost appeared to be having a bright day—a result of the landscape existing largely in warm colors. Red mountains, yellow grass, canyons of orange and golden stone… I leveled out, deciding to head in the direction of the nearest mountain range.

I didn't make it quite that far, though. Out of the corner of my eye—and my eyesight was freakin' godlike, ever since I'd been merged with an eagle—I was able to spot a number of dark shapes flying low to the ground, off in the horizon. _Underlings_.

I let out a high-pitched screech and banked left, heading away from the mountains in pursuit of those flying underlings. I could fly much faster than the underlings, and I wasn't even feeling tired—I'd catch up to them within ten minutes. As I flew further and further north—don't ask how I knew what direction was what—the hills began to steepen into ridges and valleys. The red mountains grew less frequent, but the few that existed in the more rugged terrain were much larger in size and height. But then, as I started to close the gap between me and those underlings, I spotted another mountain in the distance…by far the largest I'd seen so far, made of a rock that was violet in color, rather than the much more common red.

And on a ledge partway up one of the violet mountain's sheer slopes, I could faintly make out a familiar shape. It was Cass's house. Sure, it was incredibly warped—copied and pasted with the Sburb server application, transforming it into a mind-numbing, tower-shaped mishmash of houses stacked on top of each other. But I could still recognize it as Cass's house.

And when I saw Cass…

She was on her rooftop, crouched down on a knee, her M16 assault rifle tucked to her shoulder. Right now, her house was surrounded by a swarm of winged basilisks; they were circling around her rooftop, taking their turns dive-bombing her. She was firing in short, controlled bursts; each time she opened fire, a basilisk would fall from the sky.

But the much larger, winged, snake-like underlings that I'd followed here… Wyrms, they were called. I hadn't encountered any of them on the Land of Rain and Rivers, but somehow I still knew exactly what they were. They would pose much more of a problem. But I didn't give a shit about them. The moment I saw Cass, I… I started to see red. From my perspective, it'd only been hours since I'd been ripped from my dream bubble, and seeing Cass started to make all the crazy come howling back to the surface.

I heard myself screech again, streaking forward into a dive of my own, my talons outstretched… When I think back on it, I honestly don't know what I was trying to accomplish. I kind of just…lost it. I'd spent the entire flight from my planet to this one calming myself down after my traumatic revival and subsequent meltdown with Adam. I'd been able to achieve a very tentative, fragile sense of ease—trying to find some small measure of balance between the eagle's consciousness and my own.

And now, all that bullshit just went up in smoke. I started getting bombarded with Adam's memories—so many things that made me who I was, things that I'd never actually _done_… Feelings for Cass I'd never personally felt, working up the courage that I never had to ask her out on a date I'd never asked her out on... I honestly don't know if I was actually trying to kill Cass in that moment, and I suppose I'll never find out. I had no idea what I was going to do; rational thought had just gone out the window. I was swooping down on Cass from behind, baring my teeth in a savage snarl, about to strike…

…but then my right side suddenly exploded with pain. The wyrms…I'd dive-bombed Cass and, as a result of my lapse in rational thought, opened myself up to attack from the underlings I'd just blown past. I could smell the acrid odor of burnt flesh and feathers. Of what happened next, I can only remember random flashes—I wasn't unconscious, or anything, but…

I think the eagle had taken control of me. My consciousness was blinded and shocked by the pain of getting blasted by a ball of fire, so the eagle's instincts stepped in to fill the vacancy and kept me going even when otherwise I would have collapsed.

I could feel my body moving as if on autopilot, could feel myself ripping through one of the wyrms with nothing but my talon-like fingers. I did things I never would have done if I'd been in control of myself… Well, I suppose I should say the _eagle_ did things I never would have done. I tore through many of the underlings with my bare hands and talons…and at one point, I think I may have even torn the throat out of a wyrm with my teeth. My mouth tasted like blood, and I could feel it dripping down my chin. The eagle really did not shy away from fighting gory.

Unfortunately for me, the eagle fought as fierce as fucking Ares…but it was much less careful than I would have been. Its fighting style would have worked if it was still a bird, but it now had a much bigger, much more vulnerable body than what it was used to. Its aggressive rampage through the underlings inadvertently opened me up to many attacks, and I could feel myself getting torn up by basilisk claws. But the eagle's raw impulses and instincts were able to keep the pain at bay.

Cass was fighting hard, too. I could see her in my outer peripheries, calmly moving from position to position, dropping underlings left and right with well-aimed bursts. Sometimes a basilisk would come in close and she would get swiped—then she'd have to beat the creatures off with the butt of her rifle. Her M16 would clack empty once every other minute, and then she'd have to retrieve a fresh magazine from her sylladex, somehow always managing to reload the assault rifle before the underlings could get the upper hand.

The eagle was getting me cut up pretty bad, but Cass and I were still holding down the fort pretty well. If we could keep at it for another minute… But then, the eagle directed my gaze outwards from the fight. I was able to spot a second, much larger swarm emerging from the storm clouds, comprising entirely of the larger, more powerful wyrms. They were less than a mile distant and would be all over us within a minute.

When I spotted the oncoming wyrms, my turbulent thoughts suddenly grew calm and still. I could always fly away and escape the wyrms…but I could do these things because I was a sprite, and because I was part eagle. Cass was neither. I had to get us the hell out of here, or she was dead meat.

My face contorted in a deep, determined grimace as I retook control of myself from the eagle and starting moving of my own accord. I sent a fistful of fire straight through the upper body of the wyrm immediately attacking me, burning right through its chest cavity. Without a moment's hesitation, before another underling had the chance to step in, I whipped around and grabbed Cass, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her.

Then, ignoring Cass's protests, I flared my wings and—like what I'd done with Adam, earlier—put all my strength into a single, powerful flap. I was propelled straight up into the air, carrying Cass right through the first gate. There was a flash of bright violet light, and then we were suddenly crashing down into a clearing of golden tall grass, in the middle of a forest of trees with purplish bark, leaves of orange and light blue.

Sure, I'd just saved our lives, but now I was wishing I'd never taken control back from the eagle. A good part of my right side had been transformed into an ugly burn mark—the solid red energy that my sprite body was made out of simply shriveled and turned a darker shade of red, closer to maroon. In some spots, it had actually gone completely black. That was from the fireball I'd inadvertently protected Cass from. I had also been cut up and lacerated in nearly a dozen places all over my body, and I was just noticing how much I was bleeding.

I guess I was kinda surprised that I was bleeding. Having a body made out of sprite energy, I didn't really think I _had_ blood, anymore. But there it was, leaking from my wounds like it would from any normal person who just got royally fucked up by a bunch of fire-breathing underlings. It wasn't quite red, either; it was a bright, luminous shade of amber. If God ever drank apple juice, it'd probably look something like my blood. It looked crazy…

Without the animalistic consciousness of the eagle drowning out my senses, I was now able to feel, in vibrant detail, every single wound I'd just been dealt. My right side was gripped in a red-hot agony from the burn, a fresh wave of fire throbbing throughout my torso every time I took in a breath. And to top it all off, some of the gashes I'd gotten from the underlings' claws had actually gone kind of deep. Whatever parts of me that weren't affected by the burn sure as hell were feeling the intense, stabbing pain from all the lacerations.

Basically, there was no way I could move without having one wound or another making me feel like complete and utter shit.

I actually tried at one point to surrender voluntarily to the eagle's consciousness to escape my own senses, but this was the one time the eagle actually refused. Maybe this was its way of giving me the middle finger for wresting back control, earlier._  
><em>

I just lay in the grass, staring up at the stormy sky, watching the lightning, taking careful breaths that were as light and gentle as I could possibly make them. The greenish-gray storm clouds grew blurry as my eyes slowly teared up. My wings were also still spread out—not quite to their full span, but wide enough to make me feel intense discomfort from lying on top of them like that. The wing feathers were twitching in response to the pain. Folding them to make myself more comfortable, however, was absolutely out of the question, at the moment…any kind of movement besides breathing and blinking was out of the question.

I heard Cass getting up to her feet and dusting herself off. She held a hand to her forehead, blinking several times and shaking her head slowly as she got her bearings back. Then she noticed me, hurried over to my side. She crouched over me to get a better look at my wounds—I tried to ignore the look of shock on her face when she saw who and what I was. She hadn't actually seen who I was during the fight on her rooftop; everything had been moving too fast. But now…

I couldn't look her in the eye.

"Adam?" she said my name hesitantly. "Adam, what…what happened to…"

I tried to answer, but all that came out was a raspy mess of syllables that probably made sense only in Icelandic, or some other ridiculous language. Cass laid a hand on my burn, and…and the strangest thing happened. The burning-hot pain began to lessen, as if gently flowing away through Cass's palm.

Then I felt really sleepy. I tried to stay awake, kept trying to speak to Cass, but it was no use.

My eyelids drooped shut and I was out cold within seconds.

* * *

><p>The Authority Regulator left his rooftop immediately after he gave the order to send in the crushers. Leaving Commandant Arcturus on the rooftop to oversee the operation, he hurried downstairs and emerged from the building, trading nods with several of the patrolmen who were tasked with securing that particular street.<p>

The Regulator tapped a rhythm on his nightstick as he jogged down the road to the next street, which opened up into Greenflame Plaza, where the crowds of dissenters were threatening to wreak havoc. A line of six large, matte-black armored trucks appeared almost out of thin air, emerging from the alleys they'd been waiting in, roaring down the street into the square beyond. Once they entered the square, the six trucks spaced themselves out—they had barely come to a complete stop before their rear doors were thrown open. The loud engines quieted down and gave way to the sound of heavy footfalls as the mounted units began to disembark. These Enforcers wore body armor that was, like the trucks, all black. They wore thick boots, gloves, and black helmets with tinted plexiglass faceplates, obscuring their faces. Equipment-wise, the crushers wielded large, transparent riot shields and electrified truncheons. They also carried energy pistols strapped to their thighs, in case their truncheons failed them.

This scene was being repeated all throughout Greenflame Plaza as the Lunar Sector's mounted units secured the other street entrances that opened up into the square. The crushers cleared those entrances first, establishing a solid perimeter around the immediate exterior of Greenflame Plaza before beginning to move in—when they started to move up, the conventional foot units securing the outer streets took their place, keeping the perimeter intact. Within ten seconds, several hundred riot enforcement personnel were slowly making their way towards the center of the square.

The crushers were considerably outnumbered by the dissenters, but they were highly disciplined. They had been training for millennia to take on a riot of this scale. And ultimately, if they were unable to subdue the crowds, additional forces could be always be called in from a neighboring district, though that was a worst-case scenario. But the Regulator had every confidence that the crushers would be able to do their job.

His confidence was not unfounded.

The thousands-strong mob of dissenters grew even more violent when they saw the crushers arrive—the Lunar Sector's mounted units were far from loved by the populace. The nickname _crushers_ had not been given to them out of affection. The Regulator had known that their presence alone had the potential to spark off a riot, so he'd avoided sending them in until the riot had already started. Wait for the dissenters to show their hand before he showed his own.

The crushers moved into tight formations and began to advance. They moved forward slowly and carefully—the rioters weren't in any hurry to leave, so the Enforcers saw no reason to hurry themselves. The riot would be dispersed, one way or another.

The Authority Regulator unsheathed his nightstick, giving it a twirl as he watched the angry rioters charge the crushers. Bottles, bricks, rocks, and all sorts of debris were hurled at the armored Enforcers. The crushers anticipated this, elevating their shields and angling them back a bit to protect their heads and upper bodies—bottles shattered against the reinforced polycarbonate shields, bricks and rocks bounced right back off.

While all this happened, the dissenters continued to charge straight at the assembled Enforcers, ready to make them sorry for trying to oppress them. None of the crushers batted an eye, though. They were hardened Enforcers, and nothing would make them retreat short of a direct order from Major Rana, who had direct field command, or from Commandant Arcturus. But that order would never come.

The crushers held position as the tide of oncoming dissenters was about to crash into their shield wall, the forward-most line of Enforcers supported by the ranks behind them. The Authority Regulator could not help but admire the sheer efficiency of the riot enforcement officers; they operated like well-oiled clockwork. When the crushers halted their slow advance, several of their number, located in the rear line, broke ranks. Instead of bearing shields and truncheons, they wielded modified grenade launchers. These Enforcers aimed their weapons upwards and opened fire, sending canisters of tear gas straight into the front of the charging mob.

In those initial moments of confusion when the gas canisters hit the crowds, when the effects of the nerve agent started to take their toll, incapacitating many of the rioters, the crushers struck. The sergeants calmly ordered their squads to advance. No sooner had the canisters hit the crowds than the crushers rushed forward. They maintained their tight formation, but now they moved at least three times faster than their original pace.

The crushers kept their shield wall strong as they pushed into the frenzied crowd. The tear gas had thrown off the momentum of the dissenters' advance; now, they milled about—some of them temporarily blinded, some of them incapacitated by severe coughing fits or vomiting. Any small semblance of organization they might have had before was now gone.

Any of the disabled dissenters who were unlucky enough to cross the crushers' path were immediately shocked into unconsciousness by the Enforcers' stun batons. The slightly more fortunate dissenters who had managed to evade the tear gas tried to stand their ground, but they were subjected to a similar treatment by the crushers—unlike the incapacitated dissenters, who only received a shock from the stun batons to knock them out, any healthy, uninjured dissenter who tried to resist was rewarded for their efforts by having the crushers beat the living tar out of them.

More of the dissenters tried to rally, throwing themselves at the crushers. The Dersite enforcement officers caught the civilians on their riot shields, keeping them at arm's length. Working as a single unit, the crushers thrust their shields forward, throwing the pressing dissenters off-balance, all the while maintaining their forward advance toward the center of the square.

Then the Enforcers retracted their shields and started cracking skulls with their truncheons, sending more dissenters to the ground, convulsing from the energy shocks they received from the powered weapons. All throughout Greenflame Plaza, the mounted units were making progress with the mobs. Dazed dissenters were beginning to break off from the mobs, limping away from the advancing Enforcers and into the small, dark alleyways.

The crushers continued to fire more tear gas into the crowds wherever they gathered in large numbers. The tear gas would disorient them, and then the crushers would go in and break them up. Gradually, bit by bit, the massive mob that had occupied Greenflame Plaza was broken down into several smaller groups. Then those smaller groups were dispersed even further, until the crushers were finally able to break formation and punitively subdue the rioters at will without fear of being overwhelmed by numbers.

All over the square, Enforcers wrestled rioters to the ground, either cuffing them and dragging them to one of the many prisoner transport vehicles that had pulled into the Plaza, or simply clubbing them into unconsciousness and leaving them to be rounded up later.

The Wrathful Veteran had long since vanished. The Authority Regulator muttered under his breath in frustration when he saw that the Veteran had eluded him once again. He looked up to the skies, searching for the Thane's dream self…but, like the Veteran, the Thane had also disappeared.

This did not surprise the Regulator—he knew that the people who'd gathered here were mere civilians. Dissenters, yes; ex-soldiers, yes…but civilians nonetheless. If any of the true dissenters, the ones who kept to the shadows, the ones who'd fought under the Wrathful Veteran and turned the Obsidian Moon into a warzone for several millennia…if any of them had been at this rally, they'd had the good sense to slip away before the crushers rolled on in.

The Authority Regulator wondered to himself how much of this whole debacle the Wrathful Veteran had planned for. The Veteran must have known that appearing at a rally would have inevitably resulted in a massive riot, which in turn would have been suppressed by the hated crushers.

The Regulator recalled his days in the ranks of the Lunar Sector, dealing with the conflict on the Obsidian Moon; the Wrathful Veteran had certainly been able to cause the Enforcers more than enough grief with his small group of dissenters, there was no denying that. The vast majority of the Obsidian Moon's populace, however, had not necessarily agreed with the Veteran. They'd simply wanted to live in peace, far from the Battlefield, and were unfortunately caught in the middle of the conflict. They hated and feared the Black Queen and her Agents, but the Veteran was also responsible for bringing destruction and harsher law enforcement to their doorsteps. As a result, they had been largely neutral during the strife the Obsidian Moon had suffered through.

The violence was winding down. Order had been restored…but the Regulator could only speculate at what the cost would be. Perhaps all that had been accomplished today was a sizable portion of the neutral populace being pushed into the dissenter camp. Perhaps dealing with the Wrathful Veteran and his dissenters had just become more difficult.

The Authority Regulator shook his head, sheathing his nightstick. Those were dangerous thoughts to be thinking, and he decided to put them out of his mind. He openly admitted that he was not very good at seeing the bigger picture. The truth was that he was better at foreseeing the consequences of events than he gave himself credit for—he simply did not like doing it. He did not like having to consider an infinite combination of future possibilities, preferring instead to focus more on the concerns of the present.

A rally had turned violent, rapidly transforming into a riot that threatened to take the entire district by storm. But thanks to some good, solid, efficient enforcement, that riot had been successfully put down, sparing the Long Night District from untold amounts of property damage. And the Enforcers had not suffered any fatalities. A number of officers would have to be pulled from duty for medical treatment for a while, but none had been killed in the violence. The same could not be said, however, for the rioters.

Order had been restored. In the end, order would _always_ be restored. The Regulator only wished that the restoration of order didn't require such a big cleanup.

"Not a bad day…" the Authority Regulator murmured to himself, stepping over the motionless body of an unconscious rioter as he made his way back towards the perimeter.

Perhaps now he could finally go about filing some of the parking citations that had piled up in the Archagent's office. Anything to take his mind off the nightmare of the aftermath of today. All the debris that needed to be cleared away, all the prisoners that needed to be processed before being sent to the dungeons…the only silver lining was that normally the Regulator would have to file an after-action report to the Archagent. Seeing as how he was now nominally acting-Archagent, the Regulator would not have to fill out that report until he saw fit; after all, he would only be filing it to himself.

As the Authority Regulator headed back to meet up with Commandant Arcturus, he started to whistle quietly.

* * *

><p>Theo had gotten the hell out of dodge when the riot started to turn ugly. After the shooting of that first protester, the one who'd thrown a bottle and wounded one of the Enforcers, the crowd had exploded. Theo had wisely chosen to abscond.<p>

He retreated to the top of a somewhat nearby clocktower with a good view and watched the riot unfold from a safe distance. The Dersite equivalent of riot police showed up, rumbling into the Plaza with armored trucks. Theo watched them form up and lock shields; their tight formations almost reminded him of the Roman legions. Then they dispersed the rioters with stun batons and tear gas, beating any who resisted into submission.

"Man, these Derse guys are crazy…" Theo murmured.

"Some of us, yes. But not all of us," a voice suddenly spoke up from behind him. Theo whipped around, coming face to face with a shorter Dersite. He had an ugly scar on the lower right side of his face, nubby white teeth, and small, round eyes. He wore a wide-brimmed fedora and a dark gray suit. All in all, he had a very ordinary look to him, apart from the scar. But Theo knew this was not the case, immediately recognizing the stranger.

"You're the one who was talking to all those people down there," Theo said to the Dersite.

"The people call me the Wrathful Veteran. And you're the Thane," the Dersite replied evenly. He stepped forward, moving up alongside Theo, watching as the Enforcers dispersed the last of the resistance in the square, starting the long, laborious process of cleaning up the aftermath of the riot. "Now we know each other."

_Thane_. Deltasprite had called Theo that. He'd told Theo that it was his title, denoting what his powers were, and what his role in this whole game would be. The Thane of Breath—that's who Theo was, whatever it meant.

"How do you know who I am?" Theo asked the Dersite.

The Wrathful Veteran blinked in surprise. He had anticipated the Thane's arrival at his rally, but he had not expected for him to be ignorant. "Your arrival was foretold millennia ago by the Nobles and their consorts. You are, to us, considered to be figures of mythology. Obviously not so mythological, anymore, however… Did you enjoy the rally?" The Veteran nodded in the direction of the square, his eyes not leaving Theo, gauging his reaction.

Theo watched as Enforcers in the square started loading up the first of the cuffed rioters into prisoner transports. "No," Theo answered. "People died down there."

The Wrathful Veteran exhaled quietly, lowering his head a fraction. "I knew that violence was inevitable, but I had hoped… I had hoped there would be no death. Unfortunately, things that I hope for and things that actually happen are rarely the same."

Theo could find no argument with that. "Was it worth it, then?"

"I believe so, yes." The Wrathful Veteran gave a single nod. "I have now revealed your existence and arrival to virtually the entire Obsidian Moon—there were people from all four districts gathered in the Plaza today. Word will travel fast. I got the Enforcers to show their hand, as well; even if the Black Queen is not directly responsible for their actions, blame will fall on her. The Enforcers will quickly find the Obsidian Moon to be a much less welcoming place. And lastly… I ensured that you witnessed firsthand how the Enforcers operate in a conflict. All around, I would consider this to be something resembling a strategic victory."

"If you say so…" Theo didn't feel the same way as he observed the wreckage in the square. But then, he thought to himself, he really didn't know anything about what was going on. Context was always a good thing to have. Still...he was kind of unnerved by the Veteran's apparent ease with which he handled other people's lives. "So, uh…what were you guys protesting?"

"Walk with me, Thane." The Wrathful Veteran turned away from the view of the square, gesturing for Theo to follow him downstairs. "There's a lot we need to discuss."


	52. V Chapter 52: Through the Seven Gates

Chapter Fifty-Two: Through the Seven Gates

Gino Caiazzo grinned as his modified brass knuckles connected with the imp's face, testing them out for the first time. The result was always much bloodier than what he expected—the imp's entire face was caved in, sending blood and bone fragments flying everywhere. Then the underling's body dissolved into grist.

The brass knuckles weren't exactly true brass knuckles, any longer, either. Gino's Dad had given him little fragments of a strange kind of bluish-white crystal that seemed to glow faintly with its own light. Apparently, the shards had been a gift given to him by the CEO of Skaianet after he'd worked under her for a full year.

Then, after Gino had gone through his first gate, explored some of his planet, and used a return node to get back to his house, his Dad had shown him how to use the alchemiter to combine different objects together. Gino had decided to combine his knuckledusters with those shards of mystery-crystal, under the advice of his Dad, and the result had been a very strange one… He hadn't punched that imp all that hard, but one would think he'd smashed its face in with a sledgehammer by looking at its corpse.

"Damn…" Gino raised a hand to inspect one of the knuckledusters more closely. "What did you call that crystal shit, again?"

"The carapacians call it 'omnicrystal'," Mr. Caiazzo replied. He'd been leaning against the wall, watching his son try out his new toy. "They call it that because it can power just about anything on its own, provided you can find a way to harness its energy. Now it's powerin' your fuckin' fist bling."

"The cara-what-now?" Gino frowned, half of his Dad's words flying right over his head.

"You'll find out for yourself soon enough," Gino's Dad assured his son. He then nodded over to the stairs leading up to the new roof of the house—Tami, acting as Gino's server player, had been using the world-altering tools of the server application to continue building Gino's house up past the first gate until the roof now rested just shy of the second gate. Gino knew he was going to have to pass through the second gate, but he was putting it off for as long as he could. "You ready?"

Gino looked over at the stairs hesitantly, not wanting to go but knowing that he had no choice. If he ever wanted this game to end, he'd have to keep moving forward. Gino took in a deep breath, giving a single nod. "Yeah… Yeah, I think I'm good."

When Gino started to head for the stairs, Mr. Caiazzo stopped leaning on the wall and straightened up, stepping towards his son. "Hold up a sec, Troublemaker…" Gino's Dad pulled his son into a tight bear hug. He knew time was short, and his son could use some parting words. "God knows you've given me some gray fuckin' hairs with all the shit you've pulled… But I couldn't've asked for a better fuckin' son. Just keep wearin' protection, you hear? Don't get any fuckin' STDs; that shit'll turn your dick into a petri dish."

"Uh… Thanks, Dad." Gino extricated himself from the hug, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He wasn't used to his Dad being all touchy-feely. "Love you, too."

Mr. Caiazzo watched his son begin climbing the last flight of stairs up to the roof. This was it. "Gino, look," he spoke one last time, surprising his son by using his actual name, which was something he rarely did. "I just… I just want you to know that no matter what happens…we'll see each other again."

"Jesus, you want me to go through the fuckin' second gate or not?" Gino laughed in spite of himself, climbing out onto the room. "_Save all the emotions for the after-party!_" And with that, there was a bright flash of yellow light, and Mr. Caiazzo could no longer hear his son moving around. Gino was gone.

Gino's Dad couldn't help the sadness he felt. He'd known this was coming for a long time—he'd always known that he could not accompany his son through the seven gates…but it had always been an event far off on the horizon, a long-distant goal. Now that his son was finally gone…

"Need a fuckin' beer…" Mr. Caiazzo muttered to himself. He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes as he turned towards the stairs that led back downstairs.

It was the last thing he ever saw. Surprise was the last thing that fired off through Mr. Caiazzo's neurons as a knife blade suddenly buried itself in his skull. He was dead before he hit the floor.

* * *

><p>Tami Abramov took another bite from her Nature Valley granola bar as she wandered deeper into the desert. Her house had materialized at the top of what had to be one of the only mountains that existed in this godforsaken wasteland of a planet, in the middle of a vast forest of dead trees. <em>The Land of Souls and Silence<em>. That was the name of this planet, told to Tami by Amadeus—her very recently-deceased pet mouse, rendered capable of speech by being prototyped with her kernelsprite.

Of 'silence', there was plenty. After going through her first gate, Tami found herself in the middle of a desert. White sand stretching off in all directions as far as the eye could see…wide, rolling dunes… The only things that broke the monotony were the giant, tree-like formations of crystal that sprouted from the top of every single sand dune. It was nighttime on this part of LOSAS, so the crystal formations glowed with a powerful bluish-white light.

The desert looked as if it were awash in moonlight.

There was plenty of Silence. As for Souls… Tami had been trekking through the windless white desert for over a day, now, and she hadn't seen a single living creature yet. But she had a feeling that was going to change soon, judging by the rumbling noises she could hear in the distance. Amadeus the Mouse had told her that the consorts of the Land of Souls and Silence were salamanders with a very deep connection to the Life Aspect.

Finding any kind of life here was so far proving to be a challenge. Perhaps the salamanders were the ones causing the rumbling noises.

Music had been the primary drive in Tami's life for as long as she could remember. Like painters who needed to get the ideas swirling around in their heads out onto canvas, Tami channeled her creativity into music. If she wasn't strumming out a new tune on her ukulele, or on a violin, or keyboard, or some other instrument, she felt like her head would explode.

The silence of this planet was suffocating to her. And so, Tami pulled her ukulele from her back and started to quietly play an improvised melody that sounded vaguely Russian. Strangely enough, when Tami started to play, the music almost seemed to elicit a response from the environment. She felt the soft sigh of a breeze against her face, displacing the very top layer of sand. And though she could never be sure, she could swear that she heard faint whispers on the wind.

When Tami walked past the crystal trees, they began to glow even brighter, their light pulsing in rhythm with whatever Tami was playing on her ukulele. Almost as if they were listening to her. Tami's music did not seem to have any other effect on the crystal trees, but still. She still thought it was pretty damn cool.

Her good mood in reaction to the crystal trees' response to her music would not last forever, unfortunately. She continued to head in the direction of the rumbling noises, eventually slinging her ukulele across her back once more, in favor of retrieving her composite bow from her strife specibus. She didn't know if there would be any danger, but it always paid to be sure.

Tami missed her brother. He'd vanished not long after Tami had successfully arrived in the Land of Souls and Silence, and she hadn't seen him since. She'd been largely independent all her life, but still…she was in a strange new place, and she felt uncomfortably exposed without the presence of her older brother.

Tami was humming to herself as she climbed up yet another dune towards one of the larger crystal trees she'd seen so far, only to come to a dead stop at the very top. Her eyes widened, and her breath trailed away as she looked down at what had happened to the land beyond. There was a giant scar that disrupted the quiet tranquility of the pale, crystal-studded desert—a massive sprawl of barren rock that had been laid open by mining equipment, exposing the planet's insides to the elements. The pit was almost breathtakingly enormous—too large for Tami to see the other side.

In the distance, a large, town-like settlement had been erected within the massive pit, and Tami could see dark, humanoid figures going about their business within. There were several roadways that had been built, leading out from the central town towards smaller settlements that were located much closer to the edges of the mined areas. These were little more than temporary collections of wooden shacks and semi-permanent structures.

They were clearly mining camps. Each camp had been built close to one or two artificially-made tunnels that ran deep into the earth, and Tami could see minecarts filled with glowing white crystal being ferried out of the tunnels back to the camps. The people working the mines were humanoid in appearance, though they had hard black exoskeletons instead of skin. Tami was reminded of the Dersites—those alien people Theo had described to her over PalHassle. Maybe that was what these guys were…

The crystals being hauled out of the mines were the same kind of crystal that the luminescent trees were made of. Tami wondered if the crystal trees were merely the very tip of the iceberg—how far underground did their 'roots' go? Pretty far, by the looks of those mines…

For some reason, though Tami knew nothing about the miners—or _anything_ that was going on, rather—seeing the Dersites carting off more and more of those crystals really started to grate on her. This was her world, after all… Hers, and her consorts. And those miners down there sure as hell weren't sentient salamanders. What right did they have to tear up her world and steal its treasures?

She kind of felt like she'd just walked in on someone trying to rob her house. That had actually happened once, years ago, when she was little. Fortunately for the burglar, her older brother got to him before she could. Not so fortunate for these Derse guys—they'd have to deal with Tami directly.

Tami's mouth set into a hard line as she started to make her way down towards the nearest mining camp, her gaze never straying from the Dersite town in the distance. It was time to get some answers.

And then probably kick out a few burglars.

* * *

><p>Jack Noir's mouth twitched once as he watched the adult human male fall. It was probably the closest he would ever come to actually smiling.<p>

And he felt he'd earned it, too—that knife throw had been flawlessly executed. He'd moved silently, keeping to the shadows. Then, once the adult human was alone, he'd taken a deep breath and held it, feeling the balance of his knife before throwing it. The knife had struck the adult human right in the forehead; his face still wore an expression of mild surprise as his corpse crumpled to the floor.

Jack emerged from the shadows and walked over to his latest kill. He bent down and gripped his knife, yanking it out of the dead adult human's skull. Most people might have felt nauseated by the sickening squelch that came from the knife being suddenly withdrawn from the adult human's brain, but Jack personally found the sound to be amusing.

His mouth twitched again, this time as a result of laughter instead of a simple smile.

Jack wiped his knife clean on the adult human's clothes. He then looked straight up at the ceiling, twirling the knife through and around his fingers. He felt a slight twinge of irritation at having arrived at the Land of Thought and Steam just minutes too late to take care of the Prince here and now.

That irritation quickly and easily gave way to anticipation, however. Let it never be said that Jack Noir did not enjoy a good hunt. The Dersite Archagent continued to play around with his knife as he climbed up the final flight of stairs, emerging out onto the roof of the Prince's towering domicile. He paused for a moment to take in the view.

The Prince's house had materialized on top of a lone mountain made of some sort of sandstone-like rock. Stretching into the distance in all directions were open grasslands and wide, gently rolling hills covered with tall grass that seemed to change color whenever it was disturbed by a breeze. At the top of every hill were geysers that spouted off once every couple hours or so; and when they weren't erupting, the geysers simply let off steam that curled up into the air, adding to the thin layer of mist that hung low in the sky.

Just because Jack spent most of his time working as the most feared man in the entire Dersite Kingdom didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a good view when he saw one. Still, though…as good as this view was, he personally preferred that of the Land of Shores and Prisms—the Witch's planet. On that world, there was a breathtaking view no matter where you looked. Perhaps, when he finished off the Prince, Jack would be able to convince the Queen to send him to LOSAP next.

Hanging in midair about five feet above the rooftop was a glowing, pulsating, constantly-shifting pattern of lines yellow light. Jack had passed by an identical object several floors ago, about a hundred feet lower in the air than this one. The Prince's house, in its upward expansion, had been built around it. That object had been the Prince's first gate, which would make this one…

"Second gate…" Jack murmured to himself. There was no mistaking it; the Prince had gone through this gate. And where the Prince went, Jack had to follow. He took another deep breath and slipped his knife into its sheath, baring his pointed teeth in a grimace as he jumped up into the gate. The gate gave off a pulse of blindingly bright yellow light as the Archagent entered.

When the light vanished, Jack was gone.

Unbeknownst to Jack, there was one person left in the Prince's house that he had not come across, though 'person' was an incredibly liberal term when applied towards this particular individual. This individual had heard the commotion from downstairs, floating its way up the various flights of stairs to investigate.

It entered the uppermost room, just before the rooftop, and stopped short. It would have blinked rapidly in surprise if it had eyes. Instead, many of its 'pepperoni slices' slipped off its 'face', dissolving into yellow light before they hit the floor. It took in the sight of Mr. Caiazzo's corpse, the ever-widening puddle of blood that was pooling out from under the dead man's head.

"_Oh, fuck me_…" Pizzasprite muttered under its breath. As it looked away, it regenerated the sprite-matter pepperoni slices that had fallen off. It glanced over at the stairs, up towards the ceiling, then back at Mr. Caiazzo's corpse. "This ain't good…"

* * *

><p>Jack Noir clutched his stomach as he emerged into a bare room. These gates were different from transportalizer pads, and something about using them really disagreed with Noir's stomach. The walls of this room were a different color from the rooms he'd just left behind—light gray and blue wallpaper, as well as dark brown carpeting. No furniture, however, or anything else that would normally fill a room in a house like this. Jack headed over to the nearest window and peered outside.<p>

He was in another Hero's house, that much was obvious. But which one… The house was resting at the top of a tall, rocky hill. It was dark outside, but gradually brightening—it was morning on this part of the planet. Skaia was rising in the east. The house, as well as the hill it was on, was located in the middle of a vast forest of dead, gnarly trees.

Not all of the trees were dead, however. Though it was dark outside, the world was kept in a constant state of dim illumination by trees that were made of a luminescent crystal. Jack instantly recognized those glowing trees of bluish-white crystal—they were merely the tips of the massive veins of omnicrystal that stretched deep into the earth.

Jack was now in the Land of Souls and Silence. This was the Muse's world. Noir considered this as he started to climb up the stairs to the next floor, making his way to the roof of the Muse's house.

_Muse of Life_… She was a Prospitian Hero. Normally, that would have been a slight complication. However, as fate would have it, Prospit was not exactly inaccessible at the moment. Jack pulled out his walkie-talkie. It was powered by refined omnicrystal, so it was capable of transmitting great distances. The distance between the Land of Souls and Silence and the Golden Moon of Prospit, for example.

Jack set the radio to the appropriate channel and spoke into it. "Brute, you hearin' me? It's Noir. Pick up."

There were a few brief moments of silence before the walkie-talkie issued a squawk of static, which quickly resolved into the low, nasally tones of the Hegemonic Brute. "_Yeah, boss. I'm listenin'_."

"What're you doing right now?"

"_Scopin' out the Knight's dream tower with the Droll, boss, like you said-_" the high-ranking Dersite Agent started to respond, but he was swiftly cut off by his superior.

"Yeah, forget that for now. Have the Droll keep an eye on the Knight's dream self," Jack Noir ordered, pausing briefly to clear his throat. "I may have an opportunity to off the Life bitch sometime in the next few days; I want you to go to the Muse's dream tower. Once her waking self is a cold cut, I'll signal you to finish the job."

The Hegemonic Brute had the good sense not to argue or question the wisdom of changing plans so abruptly. Jack was never one much for long-term planning, preferring instead to fly by the seat of his pants and improvise his plans as new developments occurred. After all, what did having two Agents ready to off the Knight matter when the Knight wasn't yet a viable target? Better to deal with the Muse now, when the opportunity presented itself, and then worry about the Knight later on.

Jack steeled himself for more nausea as he entered the Muse's third gate, which her house had just barely been built up to. The gates here were made of emerald green light, and the blinding flash of radiance when Jack entered the gate was an identical color.

Noir emerged through the third gate into a windless desert of white sand. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing—the desert almost seemed to swallow sound. Even his footsteps sounded quieter than normal. Scattered all throughout the landscape of giant, almost ridge-like sand dunes were the glowing bluish-white crystal trees. It was nighttime in the desert, so the light of the trees was even more pronounced.

Leading off into the distance were two trails of footprints; one much newer than the other. The Muse, and then the Prince…

No doubt about it, Jack was heading in the right direction. He tapped an irregular rhythm on his knife handle as he started to walk forward, following the footprints that would lead him to his next victims.

* * *

><p>Gino had been walking for a long time, and he was starting to get really tired.<p>

He wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since he'd traveled through his third gate and wound up in the middle of this white desert full of sand dunes and trippy crystal trees. It had been nighttime when Gino arrived in the windless desert, but Skaia had slowly risen in the east, bathing the desert in daylight. Fortunately, the temperature climbed into the seventies and then held constant—a normal desert like this should have been unbearably hot, but this place remained at a comfortable warmth.

Gino supposed that was a bit of a silver lining. Yeah, it kinda sucked that he was stuck walking through what seemed to be a never-ending desert on some strange planet in another dimension…but at least he wasn't sweating his balls off while doing it.

Gino arched an eyebrow at that last thought. _I think I'm in danger of becoming a fuckin' optimist,_ he chuckled to himself in his head. When he thought about it, though, Gino figured that it sort of made sense for him to start thinking like an optimist, right now. It wasn't the fact that he was getting really tired and thirsty, not the fact that he had no idea how big this desert was, no idea how far ahead Tami was, or how much further he still had to go… All those did factor into the equation, certainly, but it was what awaited him at the end that made Gino uneasy.

Not for the first time, Gino mused at the terrible luck of having Tami Abramov as his server player. It had been awkward enough to have to call her when she dropped in the Sburb entry machines—and even then, that had barely been a conversation. Tami had told him what was what, dropped the machines on the roof of his house, built a ladder for him to easily access the roof, and promptly hung up.

Now, though… Gino knew that he had to progress through the seven gates to win the game, according to Pizzasprite—though it had been a challenge to extract the useful and helpful bits of information from the prototyped pizza's loud, angry, profanity-ridden rants…Gino had managed to understand the idea of the seven gates. He'd just gone through the third gate, which transported him somewhere into the Land of whatever the fuck Tami's planet was called. Land of Sand, Sand, and More Fuckin' Sand?

Next, he'd have to pass through the fourth gate, which would presumably transport him to the next planet. But to do that, he had to find his way back to Tami's house, like how he'd had to return to his own home after traveling through his first gate and exploring the Land of Thought and Steam. And that was all well and good, save for the fact that Gino had no idea where he was supposed to go. Tami was the only one here who could probably help him get back on track.

And, with that thought, Gino went back to cursing his bad luck. Tami was the last person he wanted to deal with, here. He'd rather deal with Adam than Tami, and anyone who knew what had happened with Adam's disastrous failure of a relationship with Anna Carrero would then understand the significance of Gino's preference—Adam loathed Gino as much as Tami, and Gino knew it.

The difference between being hated by Adam and being hated by Tami was a simple one. Adam, the most stubborn person Gino knew, would never forgive or forget. Tami, on the other hand, would neither forgive nor forget…and then she'd probably beat the shit out of you for good measure. It had happened before—Gino recalled an occasion last year when some girl, who was notorious for starting rumors about other people, had started spreading rumors about Tami being a closeted lesbian…only to recant her statements after Tami had opted for revenge, attempting to open one of the cafeteria windows with the girl's face. The teachers all knew of the injured girl's penchant for spreading hurtful rumors, however, and Tami ended up getting slapped with only three days of in-school suspension.

Thankfully, after dumping Tami and ending their short-lived relationship during their freshman year of high school, Gino had not suffered a similar fate. Sometimes, though, he wished Tami would just punch him, or kick him in the balls, or something like that…then he wouldn't constantly be tiptoeing on eggshells around her, wondering if she was still waiting to strike.

As Gino trudged onwards through the white sand dunes, staring at the crystal trees he walked past, he became aware of something very curious that had started to fill the air—sound. One of the weird things about the windless desert was the total lack of sound; no fauna, no wind…nothing. But now Gino could hear sounds in the near distance that were clearly mechanical in nature.

After another solid hour or so of walking, listening to the noises grow louder and louder, Gino finally reached their source. Dersite mining equipment had dug down through a vast portion of the desert, exposing the bedrock underneath. In the middle of this dozens of miles-large region of dug-up land was a sizable collection of wooden buildings, resembling a town. Closer to the edges of the mining region were smaller camps, where the miners would take the ore after extracting it from the tunnels and shafts that extended far underground.

It wasn't any kind of ore that the Dersites were digging up, however…when Gino watched the carts leave the tunnels and enter the mining camps, he saw that they were packed full of the same kind of crystal that those glowing trees were made out of. It was omnicrystal, he realized, recognizing the mined crystals as being the same as those fragments that his Dad had given him. That made sense, then… It was not hard to see why one would mine for omnicrystal, considering its energy properties.

Gino did not waste any time taking in the sordid view of the mined region of the desert. It was a blight on the surface of this planet, not worth looking at any longer than one had to. Gino set off at a steady jog, heading towards the distant town that was no doubt populated by the miners.

He'd heard stories of the Dersites from a couple of his friends—Cass and Theo, namely. Stories of humanoid guys with hard black carapaces in place of normal skin, and white eyes. They reminded Gino of chess pieces. Living, talking, sentient chess pieces. He had not heard very much about them, so his knowledge of Dersites was rather limited. Pizzasprite, his main source of information for all things Sburb-related, had likewise been unhelpful. Even so, he wasn't quite sure if he trusted them. There was something about them that made him uneasy.

And so, Gino made sure he didn't come near any of the smaller mining camps as he made his way towards the town. His approach to the town went without a hitch—no one had spotted him. From what Gino could glean, the planet—or, at the very least, this _desert_—was uninhabited, which would explain why the Dersites in the town had no kind of perimeter watch, or anything. What was there to watch for in a desert where nothing lived?

Luckily for Gino, his timing turned out to be impeccable, as had his mistrust of the Dersite miners. When he arrived in the town, he moved quietly, keeping to the shadows and alleys between buildings. He could see miners relaxing on a few front steps in front of what appeared to be their homes, others reclined behind open windows. There were a few Dersites going about their daily business on the gravel paths that stood as a substitute for roads, as well.

All in all, the town did not seem to be very populated. Most of those who lived there were probably working in the mines, at the moment. But there were still enough miners remaining in the town to force Gino to keep extremely alert. Several times, he nearly ran into Dersites who were also traveling through the back alleys for whatever reason—he'd always had to sprint off down the nearest space between buildings to avoid detection. Once, he even had to take cover underneath what seemed to be some sort of garbage dump.

Wrinkling his nose at the stench that now clung to his shirt, Gino pressed on. He realized how impeccable his timing had been when he crept through one last, particularly long alleyway, situated behind a large building that seemed to function as a sort of dining hall.

When Gino reached the end of the alley, he saw that it emerged into the central square of the town—it wasn't really a square, per se; merely an open area in the center of town that all the innermost buildings had been erected around, forming a square. In the middle of the square was a simple stone pedestal, and set within the pedestal was a tall metal pole. Flying at the top of that pole was a purple flag—emblazoned upon it was a solid black pentagon. There were four thick lines that protruded from the pentagon's top two edges—two per edge.

Gino wasn't quite sure what this signified. He didn't exactly give it too much thought, either, because he was too busy watching as Tami was dragged by two burly, broad-shouldered Dersites out of an important-looking building that was adorned with purple and black banners. She was barely conscious, and there was blood flowing from a wound in her side.

She'd been shot.

Gino retrieved his powered knuckledusters from his strife specibus, slipping them over his fingers. "This'll probably end badly…" he murmured to himself, getting ready to strike.


	53. V Chapter 53: Light and Life

Chapter Fifty-Three: Light and Life

Gwen Twymann sat on the beach, staring off into the distance, trying to discern where the ocean ended and the sky began.

It was hot, probably in the mid-eighties. That was no problem, though; Gwen had always preferred warm weather. She only wished she had a bathing suit in her sylladex; it was a shame to be on such a beautiful beach with nothing but school clothes. At least it would take her a while to get noticeable tan lines—her darker skin was working in her favor, there.

The light from Skaia felt warm and soothing on her skin, as did the gentle breeze that kept the island's temperature from growing too hot. There was a salty scent on the wind, from the ocean, but it was not overpowering. The only thing missing was the crying of seagulls.

The ocean was sparkling in the daylight, and while there was no wind on the island which Gwen was marooned on, there was a stiff breeze further out to sea; Gwen could see whitecaps in the distance. All in all, it was like a normal summer day at the beach, save for a few crucial differences.

First difference: the ocean water was emerald in color, rather than blue. Gwen knew that the water itself was not actually green—the ocean's hue was merely a result of the water absorbing certain colors of light from the sun. Light, after all, is energy in its purest form—nature's way of transferring energy through space. For whatever reason, perhaps due to an elevated level of plankton in the water, the specific energy of the green wavelengths of visible light reacted with the water molecules and were dispersed rather than absorbed, giving the water its green appearance.

Gwen blinked several times, massaging her temples to alleviate the sudden ache that arose there. Since when did she know so much about light? It was very strange—Gwen had always been one of the smartest people in her school. And that wasn't Gwen tooting her own horn; it was fact, and she had the IQ tests to prove it. She was a good student, able to breeze through the most advanced classes Downingtown West High School had to offer. But ever since she'd entered this strange dimension of Sburb, the incipisphere…it was almost as if someone was downloading random information into her mind.

The reason for the ocean being green, for example; she'd never known exactly what it was that made Earth's oceans blue. She'd never known that the water absorbed certain colors of the visible spectrum while dispersing the others. But now…now, it seemed painfully obvious to her.

Gwen shook her head again, keeping her thoughts from straying too far off-topic. Back to the strange characteristics of this planet…

Second difference: the sky was orange, and the clouds were all the colors of the rainbow, constantly shifting from one end of the spectrum of visible light to the other. And before Gwen's thoughts started to explore what made _those_ things possible, she thought of the final strange characteristic…which was something that she could not explain, to her relief.

Third difference, as well as the biggest: floating in the sky—among the clouds, below the clouds, above the clouds; all elevations—carried about by the wind currents, were giant, asteroid-like chunks of a transparent material…glass, perhaps, or crystal. Some were as small as cars, while the largest ones could probably rival small mountains in size. There were also more of these objects on the ground, shaped more like long crystals, protruding up from the insides of the planet.

They were prisms. They caught the light from Skaia and refracted it, shooting out brilliant beams of multi-colored light. What Gwen found profoundly strange about them was the fact that they were able to refract light in the manner of a prism without having the proper shape—prisms were able to split white light into its respective colors because of how its surfaces were angled in relation to each other…but these unshapely chunks of glass or crystal were simply able to do it without such restrictions.

It did not take a rocket scientist to see why Gwen's planet was called the Land of Shores and Prisms.

Gwen stood up abruptly, turning her back on the ocean. The island was small, completely ringed with perfect beaches of reddish sand, but its interior was covered with coconut-bearing palm trees, pineapple plants, and light foliage. The flora of this island, at least, was a normal green color.

_Green in color, caused naturally by their possession of chlorophyll, which absorbs the red and blue wavelengths of light from the sun_-

Gwen took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the light-related jargon that wormed its way into her head. After taking a brief pause to let her thoughts settle, she continued to walk back up the beach towards the shelter of the trees.

The frequency at which the rush of foreign information was entering her mind had not increased, or anything, and it was not like she could never have a moment's peace…but she'd always been the kind of person whose thoughts wandered into the outer regions of her mind, constantly asking questions, constantly trying to seek answers, constantly trying to figure out how everything worked…

Now, every time she did that, she was nearly overwhelmed by a torrent of new information that _answered_ her questioning thoughts. She was really beginning to grow more cautious with her thoughts, making much more of an effort to keep focused, not letting her mind wander. When she reached the shade of the foliage that grew on the interior of the island, Gwen glanced up at one of the palm trees, her stomach growling as she saw the coconuts that grew at the very top.

Gwen had been stranded on this island for over a day, now, and she was getting really hungry. After entering the Medium with the help of Gino, who had acted as her server player, Gwen had easily fended off the underlings that attempted to swarm her home, quickly acquiring enough grist for Gino to build her house up to her first gate.

During all this, her Gramps had prototyped himself with her sprite, which had already been prototyped pre-entry with Nibbles, her pet rabbit. Nibbles had been killed during the entry phase when a shelf had fallen on him and crushed him—Gwen had prototyped her deceased pet with the kernelsprite at the advice of Theo. Then her Gramps added himself to the mix, making the sprite much more…bizarre-looking, to say the least.

But, despite the incredulity Gwen felt when she saw her Gramps with rabbit ears and furry paws in place of his hands, her sprite had grown much more helpful. When it was just Nibbles who was prototyped with the kernelsprite, all the sprite really did was hover around and ask Gwen for carrots. Grampsprite, however, retained all the intelligence of her Gramps, allowing the sprite to communicate much more easily.

Well, so much for being helpful. Grampsprite had given her his sprite pendant and told her that he loved her, how proud he was to call her his granddaughter, as well as giving her as much help as he could without revealing too much about the game. Sprites, it seemed, had access to a wealth of knowledge about the inner workings of Sburb, but they were also compelled to be cagey about how much of that information they shared.

Then, after telling Gwen that he could not accompany her beyond the first gate, Grampsprite had wished her luck and departed. Gwen had gone through the first gate, like she was supposed to…only to emerge on another island, smaller than the one her house had materialized on. And that was it; nothing related to her quest was located on this island, no more gates or return nodes; not even any animals. Just beaches, palm trees, and the giant green ocean.

Gwen could spot other islands in the distance, but they seemed to be similar to the one she was currently marooned on. They were probably much farther away than they looked, too—swimming to them would be incredibly difficult, and would ultimately serve no purpose. Still…she was limited on options. If she did not find a solution soon, she would be dead of dehydration in days.

Having nothing else to do, Gwen continued to walk straight through the middle of the island, where the tropical foliage was at its thickest. She found a little clearing within the thickest grove of palm trees and sat down once again, resting her head back against the trunk of one of the thicker trees.

She had no intention of staying there for very long, however. Gwen liked sitting in this grove because, when she could not see the ocean or the bright sand of the beaches, when she was completely surrounded by plantlife and greenery…it felt much more peaceful. And for someone with thoughts as potentially chaotic as hers could be, peace and quiet was something to be treasured. Unfortunately, the tropical foliage blocked much of the sea breeze, which was gentle enough to begin with, so the temperature of the island's interior was higher than that of the beaches and outer woods.

Gwen wiped away a bead of sweat that had broken out above her brow, opening her eyes once more. She remained silent, staring off into the orange sky, losing herself amongst the floating prism rocks and the ever-shifting rainbow-colored clouds. She stayed there, sitting against that palm tree, for a while—longer than she'd intended. It had gotten uncomfortably hot in the grove, but she was too relaxed at the moment to care.

Her relaxed state would not last, however. After several hours of resting against the palm tree, basking in the heat, Gwen's eyes flew open when she heard something disturb the relative silence of the island.

_Voices._ She heard _voices_.

There were people here. And people meant a way off this island.

Gwen could barely contain her excitement as she scrambled up to her feet, plunging into the foliage, heading in the direction of the voices; they were coming from the opposite side of the island. There were several different voices—perhaps four or five individuals—and it was not long before Gwen heard more sounds…not more voices, something else… Shoveling, maybe? It definitely sounded like earth being displaced.

Gwen's instincts were correct—the people who'd arrived on the island were indeed digging a shallow hole in the ground…but, ultimately, that was the last thing Gwen was paying attention to, in her shock. She emerged into another grove of palm trees, much closer to the beach as well as more sparsely vegetated.

There were four individuals gathered in the center of that grove. Three of them had been digging the shallow hole with spades while the fourth supervised. Gwen stumbled into the clearing just as two of the diggers were lifting a battered old wooden chest from the hole, setting it down on the ground. They were just as startled by Gwen's sudden appearance as Gwen was by their…well…

Gwen stared at the four strangers, not even blinking. The first thing that came out of her mouth was, "Uh… _Turtles_."

The four strangers were turtles. They were nearly man-sized, they stood upright on their stubby hind legs and used their front legs as arms like people would…but they were turtles. Giant, talking, sentient _turtles_. Their skin was a grayish-brown color. Their shells, however… They were shaped like normal turtle shells, covering their backs exactly like normal turtle shells…instead of being green, however, like most normal turtle shells, they were varying shades of orange, ranging from burnt orange to amber.

Once Gwen was able to get over the shock of meeting a bunch of giant talking turtles, she started to notice more details, her mind processing information as fast as a computer. The four turtle-people all had a symbol drawn onto their shells with yellow paint—a circle with small rays radiating outward from its edge, the four rays at the 'cardinal' positions of the circle being the longest. The symbol looked like a stylized sun.

The turtle who appeared to be in charge, the one who was supervising the other three, was the tallest and oldest of the group. He had a large, stormy gray eye—the other one was presumably missing, the eye socket covered by an eye-patch. He wore a brown skullcap, heavy black boots, and a sturdy leather belt that bore a long, thin-bladed rapier on one side and a flintlock pistol on the other. The other three turtles were armed with cutlasses, as well as various odd accessories—one of them wore a bandanna tied around his head, another had a large silver hoop dangling from the side of his face, in the same place a human's ear would be located.

While the three turtle people who'd been digging up the wooden chest gawked at Gwen as she stumbled into the clearing, the one-eyed turtle had drawn his pistol in a flash, aiming it straight at Gwen's head. And even as the one-eyed turtle drew his weapon, Gwen had already accessed her strife specibus, retrieving her primary weapon—a Walther model handgun; a gift from her Gramps, who'd always had an affinity for pistols—and taking aim straight back at the turtle's forehead.

Though she maintained an outward sense of calm, Gwen was inwardly doing her best to keep her thoughts from running wild into panic mode. That one-eyed turtle looked like he was deadly capable with his flintlock. Even so, that was not necessarily the most problematic part of the whole situation—even if she were able to defeat these turtle guys, how would she get off the island?

Wherever the rest of the turtle people were, they probably would not be keen to offer Gwen passage off the island if she just went ahead and killed four of their kin. So, in truth, the one-eyed turtle was completely in charge of the situation.

"Interesting weapon you got, there," the one-eyed turtle broke the silence, speaking to Gwen for the first time. "Is that a firearm?"

"Sure is," Gwen replied, keeping her voice steady, along with her hands. "Walther PPK; straight blowback-operated, semi-automatic. Same gun used by James Bond."

The turtle's lone gray eye blinked once and he cocked his head, confusion written all over his face. The other three turtle guys murmured amongst themselves.

"What'd the alien say?" the turtle with the indigo bandanna tied around his head grunted, every bit as confused as his one-eyed kinsman. "Who the bloody hell's James Bond?"

Gwen muttered under her breath. She was on an alien planet in another dimension, talking to sentient turtles. No _shit_ they wouldn't have any idea who James Bond was. Gwen considered the fact that another consequence of entering the Medium was that any pop culture references she made would fall on deaf ears.

"Shut it, Inaros," the one-eyed turtle growled at his lackey. He then turned his attention back to Gwen. "I must apologize for the behavior of some of my younger crewmen; they are not well-known for their manners. I propose we ease the tension here with a simple exchange of names and species, followed by a mutual lowering of our firearms; does this sound acceptable?"

Gwen hesitated before answering, but ultimately acquiesced. "Okay, I'm game…" She was still on her guard, but she could recognize an olive branch when it was being offered to her.

"Very good." The one-eyed turtle gave an approving nod, a faint smile tugging at one of the corners of his mouth. "We are consorts of this world. My name is Aristophanes, and I am the first mate of the _Viridian Wind_."

"My name's Gwen, and…uh…" Gwen felt like she should add more than just _Hi, I'm Gwen._ Aristophanes seemed to be expecting a little bit more than that, but Gwen didn't know of anything else to add to…wait… Then again, Sburb _had_ given her some sort of title—Grampsprite had told her about it. "And I'm the Witch of Light."

_Whatever the hell that means,_ Gwen thought to herself as she finished that sentence. But while she may not have known what being the 'Witch of Light' meant, Gwen could see that it held huge significance with the consorts. The three younger turtles began murmuring to one another again.

Aristophanes held Gwen's gaze, however, his eye not blinking once. "The Witch of Light, you say?"

"That's what I was told, yeah."

"Told?" Aristophanes arched an eyebrow. "By whom, if I may ask?"

Gwen was starting to lose patience. "By my Gramps, who decided to turn himself into a spirit guide with freakin' rabbit ears. Anymore questions?"

The three younger consorts grew louder in their murmurings, and Gwen caught one of them saying 'kernelsprite' at one point. So that meant they had some measure of knowledge concerning Gwen's quest. Maybe she would be able to get some answers from them that Grampsprite had withheld.

Aristophanes released the hammer of his flintlock pistol, lowering the weapon and returning it to his belt. "Very well, Witch…it would appear that we are no longer strangers."

Upon Aristophanes's lowering of his pistol, Gwen stowed her Walther back into her strife specibus, causing the handgun to vanish into thin air. Now that all the weapons had been put away, the three younger turtle consorts filled in the hole and took up the old wooden chest, and Aristophanes started to lead the way back to the beach, gesturing for Gwen to follow.

As they made their way through the tropical foliage, Gwen couldn't help but stare at the large wooden chest, wondering what was inside it. She nearly jumped in surprise when Aristophanes suddenly spoke to her. "_Knowledge,_" the one-eyed consort said to her. Upon seeing Gwen's questioning glance, the orange-shelled turtle clarified. "You haven't stopped looking at that chest. It contains scrolls from the Library of All—very ancient knowledge. That, and a substantial amount of somewhat less-than-legal rum."

As Gwen was led out of the woods and onto the beach, she could see a small skiff pulled up onto the sand—used by Aristophanes and company to land on the island. But beyond that, further out to sea…

There was a good-sized ship anchored not too far offshore, bobbing in the shallow waves. It was made of wood, and it reminded Gwen very much of an 18th Century first-rate ship of the line—three gun decks, which were all currently sealed, over a hundred cannon, three masts…a ship of that size was large enough to have a complement of several hundred crewmen. Flying from the top of the mainmast was an indigo flag emblazoned with the same golden sun symbol painted on the consorts' shells, as well as two crossed scimitars beneath the symbol. The ship's hull was also made of a dark green wood, and its sails were dyed emerald, close to the color of the ocean—this probably made it blend in with the water at a distance.

Gwen could see why it was called the _Viridian Wind_.

"She's a beauty, no?" Aristophanes grinned as he looked upon his ship, glancing over at Gwen to gauge her reaction. "One of our most powerful ships—the captain is, after all, one of the more infamous of our number. Not many would have been able to steal the _Wind_ right off the docks of Port Salamis like he did."

"You stole that ship?" Gwen arched an eyebrow, many pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. "Who'd you steal it from?"

"Why, from the Fleet, of course!" Aristophanes sounded surprised that Gwen had to ask that question. "Who else would we steal it from?"

Gwen had already had her suspicions, but this all but confirmed them. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she finally stopped beating around the bush and asked Aristophanes directly, "Are you guys pirates?"

"Well, it sounds so crude and barbaric when you put it like that…" Aristophanes cajoled Gwen as his three younger subordinates hauled the wooden chest into the skiff. His gray eye seemed to catch the daylight in a mischievous gleam, however, and he quickly added, "But, to give answer to your question, _yes_. Now, go on and hop in, and take care not to lose your balance—climbing into the boat is always the hardest part!"

* * *

><p>Tami Abramov perched on top of one of the Golden Moon's tallest clock towers, one hand holding onto the spire that protruded from the center of the tower's roof. She was in a state of mild irritation and confusion. Only a mild state, however, due to the calming effect the light of Skaia seemed to have on Tami. But that very same calming effect was part of what was fueling Tami's aforementioned irritation and confusion.<p>

It had taken Tami about a minute flat after awakening in this strange place to realize that she had no idea where she was or what was happening. She'd woken up to the sight of her bedroom…only it was distorted. It looked exactly like her bedroom, only everything existed in shades of red…to the point of it not looking quite real. The walls, floor, walls, windows…all red. Her bed, her sheets, her desk and laptop, her swivel chair and nightstand, her alarm clock, her drapes; all varying shades of red. Even her instruments had been affected by the strange color scheme of her not-bedroom.

Besides Tami herself, the only things in the bedroom that did not exist in one shade of red or another were Tami's pajamas, which were a bright golden yellow—the shirt had the symbol of a white crescent moon emblazoned on the front, and the bottoms were more of a loose skirt instead of pants—as well as her shoes. Her shoes were moccasins which she'd never owned before, and they were both a light, pinkish-red in color. It should have bothered her that her pajama bottoms were a skirt instead of loose pants—Tami _hated_ dresses and skirts. But, curiously enough, she found that she really liked these pajamas.

Or maybe it wasn't that she _liked_ them…more like she simply did not care enough to complain about them. They were warm and comfortable, and why complain about something that's warm and comfortable? Tami may have had an infamous temper, but she was not neurotic. The moccasins also felt wonderful, like her feet were being hugged by a cat. _A cute cat, though,_ Tami was quick to clarify in her mind. _A cute cat. Not one of those ugly ones with the faces that look like somebody whacked them with a sledgehammer_.

Tami had lost track of time, not knowing how long ago it had been since she'd woken up in her distorted bedroom. But she quickly discovered that not everything was as it seemed when she ended up defying gravity and floating out of bed, and then out through one of her windows. An indescribably intense joy had swept through her, then, as she took in the radiant, gilded skyline of the Golden Moon of Prospit, watched the tallest of the towers and spires sparkle in the light of Skaia, saw the Prospitians gathering on the streets below to point up at her.

Then she'd started flying like she'd never flown before…which, in all actuality, she never had. She laughed as she soared across the rooftops, around the clock towers, and over the tall chimneys, feeling as if she'd just done a thumbprint of acid and was now hallucinating that she was Mary Poppins, or Peter Pan; both had crazy adventures in the rooftops of London. For once in her life, she didn't have a care in the world, and she was living every moment to its fullest; it was a strange feeling, both extremely relaxing and exhilarating at the same time.

And then, after flying around for…well, it was a blur to Tami. It could have been ten minutes, for all she knew, but Tami had a feeling that it had been many hours, maybe even over half a day. She'd stopped on this clock tower about fifteen minutes ago to get a breather, taking in the view of Prospit's moon down below…and then she started realizing how nonsensical everything was.

Where was she? Prospit; this giant city-planet of gold—where was this place? She knew it was real; Cruz had mentioned it to her many times…

_Cruz…_

Tami's brow twitched as she gave a slight frown—her first frown this entire time. _Yeah, Prospit!_ Cruz had said to her, during one of their most recent forays into the world of hallucinogenic drugs. He'd attempted to describe his dreams to her, with limited success. _It's like… It's like this city, only it's also a planet, and it's made of gold stone, and I go there when I dream. Adam goes there when he dreams, too; he managed to wake himself up somehow when he was a newborn. You're there, too, only you're sleeping! But don't worry. You'll wake up someday…_

Tami blinked several times, allowing herself to begin to float up off the top of the clock tower, though she still kept a firm grip on the spire. _Am I dreaming?_ The thought wormed its way into her mind, and she began to feel much more lucid, becoming aware of how empty-headed she'd just felt. She could still fly, and whatnot, but now she simply had to focus on it a bit.

"_Hola, up there!_" a familiar voice called up from below.

Tami peered downwards, a grin coming to her face as she saw none other than Cruz Arevalo in all his stoned Spanish glory, hovering in mid-air about halfway up the height of the clock tower. Cruz was dressed in golden-yellow pajamas that were identical to hers, crescent moon symbol and all, only he had actual pajama pants, rather than the skirt-like bottoms Tami was stuck with. He wore moccasins, too, only his were a light orange color.

Cruz scratched his goatee, holding a still-smoking joint in his free hand. He levitated himself slowly up to Tami's level, his smile widening as he offered Tami his joint. Tami graciously accepted the joint and whipped out her bic lighter, which she'd wrapped up in black electrical tape. She took a deep drag from Cruz's joint, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the initial rush of lightness that eased the worried parts of her mind. Then, opening her eyes again, she exhaled the smoke into the sky and took a deep breath.

"'_mm,_ thanks buddy." A contented smile crept across Dream Tami's face—Cruz and Theo were the only two people ever to see her smile like that—and she relaxed, letting go of the clock tower's spire and allowing herself to float gently up and away. "That hit the spot. So, uh…heh… 'da fuck's going on?"

"You're on the Golden Moon of Prospit, Tam," Cruz answered, hovering upwards alongside Tami as she allowed herself to be carried away through Skaia's light by the breeze. "You're dreaming, right now! Your dream self has finally woken up! _Chiquita,_ this is fuckin' _awesome,_ yo! You can chill with Adam and me whenever you dream, now! And wait 'till you experience Prospit on acid or shrooms, Tam, you'll lose your fuckin' mind!"

The thought of that did not make Tami's smile go away—she was glad she'd found someone else in this dream realm to share in the experience.

But Cruz was also there on more pressing business than simply 'saying hello'; business from visions he'd witnessed in the Eclipses, when the Golden Moon was at the point in its orbit closest to Skaia—causing its skyline to trail through Skaia's atmosphere and offering visions of events past, present, and future to any who looked into the Skaian clouds. One such vision had shown Cruz the situation Tami was currently in; as such, Cruz was there to help Tami out, first and foremost.

"My what? Dream self?" Tami wasn't sure if she'd heard properly. She took a second hit from the joint, followed by another deep breath and a feeling of overall contentment. That did not stop her questioning, though. "What the hell is a dream self?"

"They're the bodies we wake up in when we dream, Tam," Cruz explained, and Tami found it amusing how delightfully oblivious Cruz was to how ridiculous that last statement had sounded. "Everyone who is destined to successfully enter an Sburb session has a dream self—they're kinda second bodies, extra lives for us; _y cuando_ _estamos durmiendo,_ when we're sleeping, our consciousness wakes up in _these_ bodies." Cruz poked himself for emphasis, indicating his own body. "And when you wake up again, back in the waking world, your dream self here falls asleep and is returned to its tower—it is merely an empty vessel for your mind to occupy during dreams, not its own person."

"I'm not my own person?" Tami arched an eyebrow. "I'm just myself, only in another body? What if my dream self were prototyped with a sprite; would it be its own person then?"

Cruz accepted the joint back from Tami, shaking his head once as he started to light it. He took a deep hit, and then answered, "Uh, Tam, you don't ever want to do that. Trust me. Self-prototyping is like playing with a lot of fire. Look, there's something else you need to do right now before you can wake back up."

Tami gave a slight frown. "Not sure I like the sound of that. Sounds a lot like work."

"I know, it sucks!" Cruz grimaced. "But it has to be done. Can you tell me something? Why are you dreaming, right now? What made you fall asleep?"

"Well, I…" Tami frowned and her voice trailed off as she tried to recall what had happened prior to waking up on Prospit. At first she could only get glimpses of memories, but they gradually started to solidify. She remembered a vast, windless desert of pale sand dunes. Lots and lots of walking…

An eyesore on the surface of Tami's planet, where the pale sand dunes had been scraped away and the bedrock underneath broken into. Mines. Miners hauling carts filled with white crystal. A town… "There were people on my planet—Dersites…like the guys here, only they're black, not white. They were mining some kind of crystal from my planet, and I went into one of their towns…"

Tami winced as the last of the memories suddenly returned to her. Upon walking into the Dersite mining town, Tami had been jumped by the first two miners who spotted her—they'd incapacitated her by striking her in the head, and then binding her arms and feet, preventing her from accessing her strife specibus. They'd hauled her into the town council building, where the Overseer in charge of this part of the mining operation had made a quick judgment concerning her fate before drawing his energy pistol…

Tami winced again, this time as she remembered the sensation of mind-numbing pain that had been the last thing she'd felt before waking up on Prospit. "I… I think I got shot, Cruz… _Ow!_" Tami broke off and clasped her right side, gasping as it exploded with sudden pain.

Normally, that would've had Cruz spooked, but he'd seen this in the Skaian clouds; he knew this was coming. He grasped Tami's hand and pulled her along behind him, flying faster and faster across the skyline until Tami recognized the tower that her dream bedroom was located in, suddenly looming over them.

Tami was beginning to grow light-headed as the pain in her wound worsened. She felt her shirt getting wet, looked down, saw that she was bleeding from her right side, now. What the hell was happening?

Cruz pulled Tami through one of the four windows back into her dream room, laying her down on the floor. He lifted up part of Tami's shirt, inspecting the source of the bleeding. Tami saw that she was now bleeding out from a…it was clearly a gunshot wound, but it had just appeared out of nowhere… "Cruz…" Tami murmured, not moving as she watched more of her blood leave her body. "Cruz, what the fuck is happening to me?"

"You were right; you've been shot," Cruz informed Tami, his smile fading from sight. "You're hanging onto life by a thread, right now; that's why you've been dreaming for so long. Any wounds that you suffer while you're awake eventually transfer to your dream self—you got shot, so now your dream self is suffering from the exact same wound your waking self is dying from. Kinda weird it's taken this long to happen, but eh…"

"How…? How can I stop it?" Tami had to fight to keep her eyes open. She was astounded by how quickly the gunshot wound had rendered her nearly helpless.

"Only one thing can, Tam," Cruz shook his head, pulling Tami's shirt back down, covering the wound. "Normally, your corpse would have to be kissed by another Hero to revive you permanently as your dream self, but that's not going to happen for you, not with Gino watching over you—he doesn't know about the revival process. No, you're gonna have to heal yourself with your Aspect."

"My Aspect?" Tami's eyes narrowed, recalling Amadeus the Mouse talking to her at length concerning her Aspect, her Class, and her overall role in this game session.

"Yeah, Tam; you're the Muse of Life!" Cruz rested back against Tami's bed, taking another hit from the joint. "You deal in Life energy, and you have the power to heal yourself. Focus on your Aspect. Here, let this chill you out…" Cruz leaned forward and placed the joint in Tami's mouth, letting her take a third drag.

Tami breathed in another deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to do as Cruz said. She tried to focus inward on whatever Life energy Cruz had been talking about. Yes, she was well aware of how little sense Cruz's advice was making. He was basically telling her that she had a superpower and that she should unlock it…and that was it. No advice on _how_ to unlock it.

But the pain spearing through her right side was strong enough to make her willing to believe anything to make it go away. She was not panicking, or anything, but she knew that she was not ready to die, and so she forced herself to be open-minded.

"When you unlock your Aspect, using its power comes to us so naturally that it's like breathing," Cruz continued to advise Tami. "It's not a completely foreign force, either—the Life Aspect is part of you. You're a source of it. It's affected you all your life without your knowing; you already know how to use it, Tam."

Something about Cruz's words clicked for Tami. He was quite baked, and a lot of his words were unintelligible…but his explanations were still able to make sense to Tami. Helped inspire her to try and figure out how to tap into this power… Maybe that was part of what made him a Sage—the ability to sound like a wise old man even if all he was saying was stoned nonsense.

Tami realized that she couldn't focus her thoughts. Something was missing, something integral…something that had been a part of her all her life. Something she always did to calm herself down. "Cruz, sit me…" Tami started to say, but her attempt at speech devolved into a brief coughing fit. She quickly recovered and finished, "Sit me up, will you?"

Cruz did as he was asked, slipping an arm under Tami's upper back and lifting her into a sitting-up position. Cruz was already sitting up against the side of Tami's bed, so he simply pulled Tami back into his lap, ignoring the blood that seeped into his own Prospit pajamas. He held Tami with both arms, resting his chin on one of her shoulders. "You're gonna be okay, Tam. You can do this."

As she was sat up, Tami retrieved her battered old ukulele and cradled it with her right arm, beginning to pluck out an improvised, Russian-sounding melody. As the notes filled the dream bedroom, Tami knew that her instincts had been right—she'd needed music. And even though it had been an exhausting effort to change positions from lying down, Tami's fingers and hands seemed to draw an energy of their own from playing music.

In fact, curiously enough…it felt like the pain of Tami's wound was actually subsiding. As she focused more and more on the improvised tune she was playing, Tami noticed the pain of her wound less and less. She closed her eyes and started breathing in rhythm to her music, allowing the profound sense of calm that playing music always gave her to wash over her.

Tami did not think about what she was playing; her fingers were moving on autopilot. The song seemed to play itself—that's how focused Tami was. Eventually she felt a strange sensation on her right side, and she opened her eyes…

Tami's body was glowing with a bright cyan light. The light seemed flow along certain contours of her body, hugging her close as if it were a second skin. Where Tami's wound was, however, the cyan light had thickened to the point where it looked white, and it actually hurt slightly to stare directly into the heart of the nexus of Life energy. Tami's Life energy hummed and pulsed in rhythm with the ukulele's song. As she continued to play, the energies collected over her gunshot wound grew too bright to look at, but she kept right on playing. Then, as Tami reached a point in her song where she felt she could give it a good ending, the cyan light faded away along with the last few notes.

Her wound was gone, completely healed. Even the bloodstains had vanished.

After she successfully rejuvenated herself, Tami saw a strange image in her mind…it was a ladder, comprising of dark rungs, save for the bottom. The bottom six or seven rungs of the ladder had come blazing to life, each one shining with a different color. That must have been her echeladder, documenting her progress in mastering the Life Aspect.

Cruz relaxed his hold on Tami, letting her fall limp against him, enraptured as she tapped into her connection to the Life Aspect, using it to heal her wound. When she was done, he lowered his joint, blowing another puff of smoke up into the air. "Now _that_ was a Lifey thing… Tam? Tam, you alright?"

The only answer Cruz got was a long, drawn-out snore. Dream Tami was out like a light.

Cruz finished his joint with a final drag, standing up and flicking the roach out the nearest window. He paused for a moment, basking in the Skaian light that spilled inside through that window. He then turned back to Tami, reaching down and gathering her up into his arms, laying her down on the bed. "_Nighty-night, Dream Girl,_" Cruz chuckled, pulling the quilt over his best friend. Satisfied that he'd done all that could be done, Cruz took one last look at Tami before flying back outside. Knowing that it would be a little while until Dream Tami woke back up, Cruz reached for his joint…only to remember that he'd just _finished it._

Cruz gave a little noise, as if he were surprised at himself for forgetting that he'd just finished his last joint—he wasn't really surprised, though; he did this all the time—he'd had a spacey mind for as long as he could remember. It was no matter, though; Cruz simply plucked his backup joint from behind his ear, taking a moment to light up before choosing a random direction and starting to fly.

Then a distant shape caught Cruz's eye, and he altered his path, soaring towards the adjacent dream tower he'd spotted. It was Adam's tower—Cruz heard Adam had been walking the streets alone, earlier in the day, but the White Guardian had ensured that he was returned to bed before Cruz caught wind of it.

But if was safe to guess that whatever Adam was doing on the Land of Rain and Rivers had probably rendered him unconscious once again—that kid was just an injury magnet.

Cruz glided along the wind currents towards Adam's tower, his smile returning. He started to hum under his breath, hoping that his friend was awake.

* * *

><p>Gino was nearly delirious with exhaustion by the time nightfall started to set in.<p>

He had been on the run for nearly twelve hours straight, and that was after walking through a desert all morning long. Earlier in the afternoon, Gino had followed Tami into a semi-permanent town that was inhabited by Dersite miners. From what Gino had heard about the Dersites up until now, they seemed to be generally against him and the others winning this game session…and they'd more than demonstrated that fact to Gino when he entered town just in time to see them moving Tami out of the town council building.

Tami had been beaten, and she'd sustained a gunshot wound to her right side. That had complicated things—Gino had absolutely no idea how to stabilize a wound like that. He'd ended up tearing off part of Tami's shirt from the bottom, balling it up, and applying pressure on the wound, tying it down with a strip of fabric from his own t-shirt. He'd done this quickly—after following Tami's two handlers into a nearby stockade-like building that had holding cells, Gino had practically kicked down the door and wrecked shit, dispatching the two miners who were carrying Tami. With the entire town aware of his presence, Gino had been forced to administer his impromptu first-aid within the span of fifteen seconds, immediately followed by him lifting the unconscious Tami up and carrying her over his shoulder.

And so, Gino had fled the Dersite mining town exactly like that—bleeding girl over one shoulder, still parched from his long walk through the desert to reach the town to begin with, powered knuckledusters ready to smash through anything that tried to stand in his way. He put as much distance as he could between himself and the town; though he had initially managed to avoid the Dersites, they had jeeps patrolling the entire area, and he had to be mindful of leaving tracks in the sand of the surrounding desert.

But Gino did not give up. He kept on moving as fast as he could without being discovered, reaching the desert once again by late afternoon, leaving the mined region behind. Once he lost himself within the sand dunes, he was able to breathe a little easier. But while escape had been his first concern, his second concern was now coming back to bite him: Tami's wound.

Tami had been unconscious this whole time, and though Gino's makeshift bandage was slowing the blood flow, it was nothing more than a stopgap at best—Tami was still losing a lot of blood, and all this movement was not helping. Gino staggered down through the long, valley-like trough between two tall and rather long sand dunes, still carrying Tami, ignoring his dry throat and burning arms. Sweat was pouring off his face by now.

_How the hell'd I get myself into this?_ Gino muttered to himself in his head. Following in Tami's footsteps to try and find her had been bad enough for Gino, who had not been looking forward to a reunion with Tami Abramov one little bit. But then finding that she'd been shot and beaten up like that… And now here he was, running from alien miners with Tami unconscious and bleeding out on his shoulder.

This whole thing was literally a nightmare.

Finally, after the last trace of Skaia's light vanished under the western horizon, leaving the omnicrystal tree formations as the windless desert's only source of illumination, Gino could go no further. He wanted to keep on going, but realized that he was no longer moving because he had fallen to his knees.

_Gee, when did that happen…?_ Gino thought to himself, not remembering when he'd collapsed. He gingerly removed Tami from his shoulder and laid her down on the sand. He then took in several deep breaths, settling back into a cross-legged position, perfectly ready to pass out where he sat.

After debating for a little while, Gino decided that he needed to get some rest, lying himself down in the sand as well. With Tami in the condition she was in, Gino felt uneasy and slightly guilty about going to sleep, but he didn't see any other option. If he didn't get rest, he would not be able to get Tami out of this desert; then _both_ of them would die.

Of course, that was assuming Tami even lasted the night, which Gino feared would be unlikely. He thought that he might be in a slight state of shock—carrying someone you know God knows how many miles through a desert while they bleed out on you could do that. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Tami could be _dead_ when he woke up. It was simply too horrible for him to accept.

Gino was too tired to have thoughts like those. He rested his head back, removed his aviator sunglasses, and closed his eyes, already feeling himself drift away into sleep the moment he did so. He did not fall all the way asleep, however…his rest was interrupted by a sudden bloom of heat that brought him back to awareness.

Upon opening his eyes, Gino nearly jumped in surprise when he saw that Tami's body was glowing with a thin film of cyan energy. The light was flowing across her skin—he could see currents in the energy, flowing along certain pathways through Tami's body, and these currents had offshoots of their own, spreading the energy to all parts of the body. The energy pathways also created eddies and swirling pools, but nothing was obstructed…save for the place where Tami's wound was.

The cyan energy had gotten bunched up on Tami's right side, where she'd been shot, almost like water rising behind a dam. Its flow was obstructed. More and more cyan light flowed into Tami's right side, gradually making the energy in that area brighter and brighter, until it looked as if Tami was wearing a bandage of white light.

Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the cyan energy subsided, sinking back into Tami's body and vanishing.

Gino's mouth hung open. Tami's wound had been healed—not a trace of it remained…not even a scratch. Even the bloodstains and dried bodily matter around the wound had been cleared away. It was as if she'd never been shot at all.

Tami's eyes snapped open. Emerald green eyes met golden yellow ones—Gino's dumbfounded gaze was the first thing Tami saw. She glanced around, getting her bearings, looked down at herself, felt the spot where her wound had been. Then she looked back at Gino.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here, Caiazzo?"


	54. V Chapter 54: A Thane's Breath

Chapter Fifty-Four: A Thane's Breath

Theo Gibbons was fading in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of a gray sky and the sound of wingbeats, other times he'd blink and see his dream bedroom on Derse's moon. His mind was scattered and he couldn't quite form coherent thoughts. It felt like he was in this state for an eternity, though in reality it was for less than an hour.

When Theo finally regained full consciousness, he found himself lying on the floor of a circular stone chamber. Next to him was the creature who had rescued him from the underlings—the pale-blue-skinned pterodactyl. _He_ was speaking to a group of five older pterodactyls, who were sitting in five stone chairs lining the opposite side of the chamber.

Theo stared, his mouth hanging open. Pterodactyls? What? _What?_ Pterodactyls, _what?_

Talking pterodactyls?

_WHAT?_

Memories of fleeing the underlings through a bioluminescent forest came crashing back into Theo's mind, and he was nearly overwhelmed as he scrambled to his feet, taking in the sight of these giant, talking pterodactyls.

"The creature awakes," the stooped, pale-skinned elder pterodactyl sitting in the center chair observed, pointing at Theo with one of its talons. The others followed suit, all of them looking at Theo and murmuring amongst themselves. "Perhaps Gyaltsen's story will sound more plausible when it is told from the creature's perspective."

"A point well made, Tenzin-lama." the pterodactyl to the center one's left—a wiry, tan-skinned creature with piercing blue eyes—nodded in agreement. The blue-eyed pterodactyl's voice gave her away as female. She turned her gaze down to Theo. "Can you speak, creature? Have you a name?"

"Uh…" Theo fought to keep his emotions under control. This was all becoming a bit much to take in. Were these the 'consorts' Deltasprite had mentioned? The race of sentients who were supposed to inhabit this planet? Could they really be…pterodactyls? "Theo Gibbons…?" Theo stated his name, though it was more of an afterthought than anything else. "Are you guys really dinosaurs?"

The five pterodactyls sitting in the chairs all glanced at one another, continuing to speak quietly amongst themselves. They hadn't even heard Theo's dazed question. "The creature speaks our tongue," one of the others pointed out. "He is no underling. We can tell the Watch to rest easy; High Vigilance is no longer required."

"Perhaps he is no underling," the blue-eyed female pterodactyl conceded, but Theo had a gut feeling that she was about to follow that up with something slightly less favorable. "However, that does not make him a friend. He could still be in service to Typheus."

When the other three younger consorts—relative to the elder, of course—started to argue with the female, the elder in the center let out an ear-splitting screech. The screech cut through all the din and ushered in a new period of silence. "Sifu Indira calls a fair point to our attention. More scrutiny is needed before judgment can be made."

"Ask him if he's the-" Gyaltsen, the pale-blue-skinned consort, started to say, but he was cut off by the female consort.

"_Silence,_" Indira turned her piercing glare onto Theo's young savior. "Gyaltsen-hunter, you will speak to this council only when addressed."

Gyaltsen bowed his head in apology, taking a step back. "Apologies, Sifu."

Despite being silenced by the female councilmember, Gyaltsen's request had not fallen on deaf ears. The elderly pterodactyl sitting in the center chair blinked once, leaning forward in his chair to get a closer look at Theo. "Tell me, creature…does the word 'Thane' mean anything to you?"

Theo found he was starting to get a little lightheaded, and his throat felt a bit tight. It was nothing he wasn't used to, however, so he dismissed it. He could feel the shape of his inhaler in his pocket, so if he had an emergency he was still in the clear.

As it happened, Theo _did_ recognize the word. Yes, he knew that its worldly definition had something to do with some sort of Scottish nobility, but he'd also heard it from Deltasprite, when the Bioshock-themed spirit guide was trying to explain the game to Theo. "Yeah, uh…" Theo felt kind of awkward talking in front of strangers, and the fact that they were pterodactyls… "I was told that _I'm_ the Thane." But that wasn't it; there had been something else attached to it… It took Theo a moment to remember, but he was still able to recall it. "The Thane of Breath."

Theo honestly had no idea what that meant. He didn't know what a Thane of Breath was; if there was something he'd been supposed to study about this game beforehand, he sure as hell hadn't had the time for it. From being swarmed by underlings to jumping through the first gate, to being hounded through the forests by entire hordes of the bloodthirsty creatures…

Thane of Breath. However little those three words meant to Theo, they seemed to mean the world to the five consorts sitting in the chairs. A collective breath was taken in and the five council members spoke among themselves once more.

"You are making quite a claim," Tenzin, the elder, said to Theo. The elder's milky-green eyes were unblinking. "Though you are making this claim from ignorance, which may lend to its truthfulness… Who told you that you are the Thane of Breath, if I may ask?"

Theo didn't even know how to begin explaining that one, so he tried to paraphrase. He tried to give the consorts the short version of what had happened to him since his arrival in the Land of Fog and Shadow. Ultimately, he ended up describing Deltasprite as the 'spirit guide' provided to him by this place.

"Sounds like a Sprite," the gray-skinned pterodactyl sitting on the far right observed. This one also seemed to be pretty advanced in age, though not quite so old as the elder. When the others turned to him, the consort gave a slight shrug with his wings. "Our records indicate that the Noble had a similar guide. If this creature is the Thane, I believe it would only make sense for him to have one as well."

"You forget that the Noble was born among us, Sifu Jamyang," Indira reminded her historically-inclined counterpart. "This creature was not. He is different."

"Calm yourself, Indira-warrior," Tenzin spoke to the fiery blue-eyed pterodactyl in a quiet, but firm tone. "Remind yourself that we are all but fragments of the Source. Compared to the omniscience of the Source, the knowledge we possess is but a lone fern in the whole of the Illuminated Forest. We cannot presume to comprehend the world when we attempt to understand it through a fragment's perspective. One must see all to understand."

"Yes, Tenzin-lama." Indira took the elder's words with grace and allowed herself to calm down. It was clear that while Indira was clearly the most strong-willed member of the council, Tenzin was still undeniably the one in charge. Theo found it interesting because the elder was not in charge through any kind of force, election, or ambition…he seemed to be in charge simply due to the acceptance of the others. As a human being from a society of other human beings, it was a kind of leadership Theo was not entirely used to.

Tenzin turned his attention back to Theo. "Ten thousand years in the past, our world was ravaged by an event our ancestors refer to as the Undying Night, though our scholars today simply call it the Cataclysm—it was a long period of time, lasting perhaps several years, when the light of the Source was extinguished and night fell over us. It was a time of great sorrow and despair—fire rained from our skies, and underlings came forth from the earth for the first time, slaughtering many of us."

"In those times, we were led by the Noble of Breath," Jamyang continued to tell the story for Theo at the behest of his elder. "The Noble was not of our own people—she was discovered as a newborn by a consort named Jinpa, who is known today merely as the Great Disciple, and brought back to the nearest village, where she was raised as one of our own. The Noble grew up to possess the most powerful Breath ever known to our people; the very winds bowed down to her. And when the Cataclysm struck, it was the Noble of Breath who led our peoples to the greatest mountains across the lands, where we could live in safety from the underling swarms that had infested the surface of our world. Thus, the Eyries came into being—this very eyrie, Whiterock, was actually the third eyrie to be established in the following-"

"Sifu Jamyang?" Indira sighed, interrupting the scholarly councilmember after clearing her throat loudly. "This is not a history lesson, nor are we your pupils. Please do not stray too far from the matter at hand."

Jamyang continued with his story, not fazed in the slightest by Indira's jab. "After leading our ancestors to the safety of what would later become our Eyries, the Noble left our world and never returned. Before she left, however, she made a prediction that another like her would arrive. She referred to him as the 'Thane of Breath'. The Thane was no Noble; when he came to us, it would be as a Hero…"

Theo found that he was having a difficult time listening to the historian's story. Without even realizing it, he'd started to have to work a little bit harder to take each successive breath, until it hit Theo that he was wheezing heavily.

_Oh no, not again,_ Theo moaned silently to himself. As his airways closed, Theo began to sway, still hearing the sound of the talking pterodactyl-consort's voice without actually understanding the individual words. Theo tried to stay calm as he clutched at his pocket and pulled out his inhaler…

…only to feel his heart sink down to the region of his toes when he saw that he was not holding an inhaler. Instead, he was holding two _halves_ of an inhaler. Useless broken plastic. It must have been broken when Theo had taken that blow to the head from the ogre that had bested him; he'd gone down hard.

Theo stared at the broken inhaler for a few seconds, not initially comprehending how screwed he was. Then his asthma really started to kick in. Theo's lungs burned as he began to heave. Panic started to grip him. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of air—there was so much of it around him, and in a brief moment of lucidity Theo noticed that he could actually kind of see it…flowing seamlessly around objects, moving in gentle, subtle eddies and currents… There was so much air around him, but he could not get any of it into his lungs.

Before Theo knew it, he was on the ground, lying on his back, his chest heaving desperately in its unsuccessful attempts to get more oxygen. He was conscious of the pterodactyls clustering around him, all of them asking him what was wrong, not having the faintest idea what was happening to him.

"_Can't…breathe…_" Theo managed to gasp, though the effort of speaking was nearly akin to that of a Herculean labor. "_Lungs…broken…_"

As his vision began to darken, Theo saw the consorts all step back. Thinking he was being abandoned, Theo's panic started to multiply, and he could feel himself beginning to thrash. He knew that seizures could arise during especially severe attacks, and also that his anxiety could not be helping. And, as anyone who has ever suffered through a panic attack knows, that just made his anxiety even worse, continuing the vicious cycle.

Just as he was beginning to grow incapable of rational thought, Theo was suddenly startled by a voice.

_I had my suspicions that you were the promised Hero—I needed only to hear you make the claim yourself, to see the sincerity in your Breath._ The voice clearly belonged to the elder Tenzin; Theo, despite the state of his thoughts, could easily recognize it. Tenzin spoke quietly and gently, but also firmly. His words filled Theo's mind, and the teenager even believed at certain moments that the elderly pterodactyl-consort was communicating telepathically.

But this was not the case—Tenzin was merely whispering straight into Theo's ear as he crouched down over the teenager, covering Theo's chest with one of his arms, as well as the membrane-like wing that it was connected to.

Theo had closed his eyes by now, focusing all his remaining energy on Tenzin's voice. His panic subsided, allowing his thoughts to settle, though the pain in his lungs did not go away, nor did the desperate need to breathe. But he had to hear Tenzin's words over those urges, otherwise…

_You are the Thane of Breath,_ Tenzin's voice continued to speak, its words reaching out to the furthest expanses of Theo's mind. _You have a Breath that is more powerful than that of any of us. The winds are within you, boy; I can sense that you have used them before, but only unconsciously. You may have known how to use your Breath to its full potential when you were but a newborn, but you have since forgotten. Come, now…_

_Remember._

Theo faintly felt a cold, clawed hand take hold of his chin, holding his head so that he was facing straight up and back a little bit. His head was also tilted back to ensure that any airflow introduced to his body would reach his lungs and not end up in his stomach. Then Theo felt one of the best sensations he'd felt in his entire life.

It was air, traveling down through his trachea, somehow worming its way through the constricted airways and into his lungs. And once the foreign air settled into his lungs, mingled with all the little alveoli, where the swap between oxygen and carbon dioxide took place…

The sensation sort of reminded Theo of starting an inert engine with jumper cables. The engine is dead, unable to produce any energy on its own…but when jumper cables were attached and a foreign surge of power was introduced… Similar to Theo, who had air introduced to his inert lungs.

There was something abnormal about it, however. It was not like Theo had someone breathe air into his lungs, and his asthma was suddenly cured. There was something different about this air…it felt almost alive, humming with some kind of force that it seemed to possess all on its own…

The energy belonged to Tenzin, Theo realized. Tenzin's life essence, or soul, or whatever anyone wanted to call it…it was infused in that breath of air. It hummed and vibrated in tune with Tenzin—not with his body, but with _him_. It was a very difficult sensation to describe…and Theo honestly had no idea how he was able to perceive it.

As Theo started to lose consciousness, he gave a start of surprise when he felt a different sensation within his lungs…a second resonance infusing itself into the air in his lungs, emerging to meet with Tenzin's own imprint. And although this resonance was sharply different from that of Tenzin's, it felt perfectly seamless and natural. Very familiar.

It was Theo's own resonance. Within an instant, it subsumed the energy in the breath of air left by Tenzin, surging forward to take its place, almost like a fire racing across the surface of a puddle of gasoline. And now that it had been awakened, the energy was restless. It did not like being confined to the space of Theo's lungs—it wanted to _leave_.

Theo's blue eyes snapped back open as he flew up into a sitting position, exhaling that breath of air. It felt so good to exhale… The breath felt almost explosive as it was released. Theo then breathed in one of the deepest breaths he'd ever taken, relishing the soothing flow of oxygen as it traveled in and out of his lungs, unhindered by the asthma that had crippled them since Theo was born.

Theo was breathing again.

Still not quite able to believe what had happened, Theo slowly picked himself back up onto his feet, helped by Gyaltsen, still taking in deep breaths, trying to lower his heart rate. He got his bearings back and looked around himself, noticing the six consorts that shared the room with him. They had all stepped back. The chairs had all been overturned, and the chamber was in a general state of disarray—when Theo had exhaled, he'd released an almost gale-force wind from his mouth, wreaking havoc within the circular chamber.

There were shouts outside, and the chamber's thick, oaken double doors were thrown open, allowing five more pterodactyls to swoop in, spears at the ready.

The leader of the guards was a stocky pterodactyl with pale red skin, giant wings, heavily-muscled arms and legs, as well as large violet eyes. Unlike his spear-bearing subordinates, the consort in charge of the guards wielded a simple shortsword in each hand. He took in the sight of the chamber and immediately leveled his blades at Theo. But, also sensing that the five councilmembers were unhurt, he did not attack. "We heard a disturbance outside," the consort in charge of the guards growled as his four subordinates fanned out, securing the chamber as per his orders.

"Everything is fine, Chodak-warrior," Tenzin assured the guards, holding up a hand to quell any protestations that he expected to arise from the guard captain. "Your presence and timeliness is well-received; though, in this particular case, unnecessary. You may retire to the entrance."

"_Lama._" Chodak sheathed his swords and bowed to the pale-skinned elder, referring to him by his honorific. He then bowed to the rest of the councilmembers and left the circular chamber, followed closely by his four men.

With that taken care of, the councilmembers all set about cleaning up the room, getting their chairs back upright; placing the candleholders back into the walls, and then the candles back into their holders.

There was a very different mood, a very different energy in the room, right now. Before, it had been a mixture of curiosity and hostility—Theo was an alien to the consorts, and while coming across an outsider would provoke feelings of curiosity…it would also make people wary. Some, like Indira, even viewed Theo as a possible threat before coming to any other conclusion.

Now, though, the mood had changed…the curiosity was still there, but the hostility was completely gone. The curiosity was still there, almost giving the air in the room its own charge, smelling faintly of ozone. The hot, dry hostility was gone, thankfully, replaced by traces of the off-putting odor of skepticism. But there was something else, too…another charge in the air. While the charge of curiosity emanating from the six consorts seemed to fill the entire room with its questioning energy, there was something else there, too… This resonance seemed to flow upward, rather than outward; an invigorating, humming flow of…what was it?

_Hope,_ Theo realized. He could sense a subtle sense of hope in the air.

Wait… Theo frowned, shaking his head once. How could he know this? How could he tell what the other consorts were feeling? It was almost like their emotions distorted the space around them, projecting their own unique energy into the molecules of the air. And Theo could perceive those distortions, processing them in his brain as emotions, and-

Theo shook his head again, this time raising two fingers to massage an ache that had just sprung up around his temples. How was he learning all this new stuff? It was like someone was planting thoughts into his mind… Or maybe it was all him. His mind trying to help explain to him what was happening as dormant parts of his essence were unlocked, as a result of Tenzin's little 'jump start' resuscitation.

Now that he was thinking directly about it, however, Theo found that he could no longer sense the mood of the room. Strange…

"Is something troubling you?" Tenzin's question was enough to bring Theo fully back to his senses.

Theo was still in a slight state of shock from his recent attack, prone to having his mind wander. He focused back on Tenzin. While the others straightened up the circular council chamber, the elder stood unmoving in the middle of it all, observing Theo intently with his milky-green-eyed gaze. When he saw that Theo had heard his question, the elder went on.

"Did you feel anything strange?" Tenzin asked Theo. "A feeling in the air? Any strange smells or tastes?"

Theo blinked several times, initially hesitant to answer. But Tenzin clearly knew what Theo had just experienced, and Theo was too fascinated by that experience to not try and find out everything he possibly could about it. And besides, the pale-skinned pterodactyl elder seemed to have his best interests at heart—a slight understatement, considering how Tenzin had just saved Theo's life.

Theo described to Tenzin what he'd felt, how he had been able to perceive the others' emotions for those few moments. It hadn't been through any one of his senses that he'd sensed the emotions; always a mixture—some emotions had a distinct feel or temperature to them, others he perceived more as a sound…some emotions, even, had been experienced by Theo primarily as a certain taste on the air.

Tenzin listened to Theo, his expression not changing. The other councilmembers got their chairs back in order, but they did not retake their seats while Tenzin was still standing. After hearing Theo's explanation, the elder conversed with his four fellow councilmembers for a quick moment. Then everyone's attention was turned back to Theo.

Gyaltsen, the young consort who'd rescued Theo, shuffled off to the side a little bit, feeling a little awkward being close to the center of attention without actually being the one under scrutiny.

"You have just described Empathy Breathing, which is one of the more advanced forms of the Breath," Tenzin explained to Theo, his voice now even more quiet with reverence.

"Our people are the only ones capable of using their Breath in this manner," the scholarly consort, Sifu Jamyang, chimed in, supporting the elder's statement. "The Noble of Breath was the only outsider ever to do so. It would make sense for her successor to be likewise gifted."

Indira, who had been watching her fellow councilmembers seriously discuss the possibility of Theo being the Thane of Breath, let out a short screech, restoring the silence. While she was no longer openly hostile to Theo's presence, she clearly did not trust him yet. However, Indira was also wise enough to allow room in her perceptions for her mistrust to be potentially won over. She was still willing to give Theo a chance.

"Perhaps he does not serve Typheus, and perhaps he can use the gift of his Breath… But he is not one of us. Not yet," Indira added. When Tenzin gave her a single nod, she continued. "This creature claims to be the Thane? I am still unconvinced. It's one thing to restart a creature's Breath; such things are instinctual in nature. It is quite another thing, however, for that creature to be able to use its own Breath."

"What do you propose, Sifu Indira?" Sifu Jamyang asked the fiery female councilmember. He already knew the answer, but he wanted Indira to state it verbally so there could be no doubt or confusion.

"You already know what I propose," she replied, turning her attention to the rest of the councilmembers. "I do not believe this creature is the Thane. However, I am not so limited in my perceptions as to believe that my beliefs are infallible. Therefore, I wish to give the outsider a chance to prove me wrong—and I truly hope he does. Tenzin-lama, I will defer to your wisdom, as always, but I believe the creature should undergo the Second Birth."

This time, there was no murmuring from the five older pterodactyl-consorts. The five councilmembers all shared a glance, and the others all silently approved of Indira's proposal. The only verbal reaction came from Gyaltsen, who swore very quietly under his breath. Theo was the only one able to hear him, and it didn't give him a warm fuzzy feeling.

"It is decided." Tenzin gave a final nod, returning to his chair. The other four councilmembers followed suit. "I am inclined to believe your claim," he said to Theo, who instinctively knew that whatever came next would start with a '_but…_'. "But it is no small matter to claim to be such an important figure of our mythology. You will undergo the Second Birth tomorrow morning. If you survive, then your claim will be cemented."

"Wait a sec, hold up!" Theo held up his hands, stepping forward. By now, after the shock of finding himself among talking pterodactyls, and then just barely surviving the asthma attack…Theo's mind was all burned out. And so, it stopped trying to fully comprehend everything that was happening; now, Theo's mind simply started to process what was happening here and now, taking things one moment at a time. "What's this second birth thing?"

"It is a trial that we all must pass when we are children," Tenzin replied. "To survive is to be accepted as a full member of our people; a child no longer."

"And to die is an equal blessing," Sifu Indira built off of what the elder was saying, though in a different direction. "Any who do not survive the Second Birth would not last very long in this world as adults. This will hold true for you, as well; for if you are truly the Thane, then the Second Birth is a trial you can pass. If you are not, however…" Indira did not finish her thought, nor did she need to.

Theo got the message.

When Tenzin spoke next, it was to the young consort who'd brought Theo in. Apart from his minor interruption, earlier, the bluish-skinned pterodactyl-consort had kept quiet, moving as far off to the side as possible. Now, at Tenzin's call, he straightened up and hopped over to where Theo was standing, awaiting instructions.

"Gyaltsen-hunter, you may escort the outsider to one of our guest quarters," Tenzin said to the younger pterodactyl. As Gyaltsen bowed his head and started to lead Theo back towards the entrance doors, the pale-skinned elder was quick to add, "The outsider obviously cannot fly there, so do help him as much as you can."

As he was led outside through the oaken double doors onto a ledge overlooking most of the northern half of the mountaintop where the consorts lived, Theo could not help but feel a small amount of unease for what lay ahead.

How far in over his head had he just gotten himself?

* * *

><p>Gwen Twymann gripped the rail as the ship crested over a wave.<p>

She braced herself as the _Viridian Wind _plunged back down into the following trough…only to begin climbing up the face of the _next_ wave. This cycle had been repeating itself countless times. Some people were bored by the endless, monotonous rolling of a ship as it passed through waves. Other people were sickened to their stomachs by it. But Gwen?

Gwen loved every moment of it.

Her enjoyment came out of the blue, as far as Gwen was concerned. She'd never been sailing in her life—Grafton Twymann, Gwen's grandfather as well as the man who'd raised her from infancy, had always harbored a deep-seated hatred of boats. Gwen never found out why her Gramps hated boats so much—she'd only asked him once; he'd given her a very stern glare and told her not to ask him that question again.

Every time Gwen had asked her Gramps about his childhood, she'd gotten a more or less identical response, so she had not pressed the issue. As a result, the furthest into the ocean Gwen had ever gotten was just far enough off the beach to ride the breakers.

And so, the fact that she was enjoying sailing so much right now came off as a pleasant surprise.

Dozens of turtle-consorts made their way across the deck, going about completing their usual tasks. Some of them climbed into the rigging to take in or let out the sails, depending on their orders. Others carried buckets of water and stone scrubbing blocks, cleaning the surface of the deck, which was almost always in a constant state of varying degrees of grime.

Gwen took in a deep breath through her nose, savoring the salty smell of the sea spray as it showered across the decks, the feeling of the wind on her face.

This was Gwen's third day aboard the _Viridian Wind,_ and she was having a much better time than she'd initially feared upon finding out that it was currently crewed by pirates. After being rescued from the solitary island where Gwen's first gate had dumped her, she'd been shown around the ship by its first mate, Aristophanes; she was introduced to the Captain for a few brief minutes, and then she was given a general rundown from Aristophanes as to how the ship functioned.

It was a very interesting learning experience for Gwen; both for the knowledge of sailing and how a sailing vessel is properly maintained, but also for the insight into the crew of a pirate ship—which was what the _Viridian Wind_ was, essentially, being stolen and currently crewed by corsairs. Sure, the corsairs were dirty, they were foul-mouthed, they lacked manners or any sort of grace…but they were excellent sailors.

There was never a job left unfinished or forgotten. Aristophanes later explained to Gwen that this was because the penalty for a sailor not completing his tasks was a week's confinement in the brig, which was located on the same deck as the cargo hold—just below the third gun deck and above the bilges at the bottom of the ship. The unfortunate sailor would receive no food, and only a single ration of drinking water every other day. He would also not be granted a piss bucket, so his bathroom would be the floor of his cell. If he didn't die of some disease or infection from the conditions of such a punishment, the sailor would then rejoin his comrades above.

Repeat offenders would have their arms broken and then be tossed overboard. There were other ships where the condemned sailor would be thrown overboard while tied to a cannonball, but the captain of the _Viridian Wind_ obviously did not consider executions important enough to waste his cannons' ammunition in order to carry it out. Better to break the arms and be done with it.

And, of course, that depended solely on what mood the captain was in. Just because it was a first-time offence did not mean the offender was automatically destined for the brig. Aristophanes had mused to Gwen of a time four years ago, the day after the _Viridian _Wind had been defeated in a failed raid—the ship that was to be their prey had appeared to be an ordinary trading vessel, but had _actually_ been a disguised warship from the Fleet.

Already in a black mood from his earlier defeat, the captain witnessed a crewmember tasked with taking in the mainsail who was slacking off on his work, securing the vast sheet of green-dyed cloth to the spar of the mainmast with haphazard, sloppy knots, not even bothering to check them after he tied them. That particular sailor had been known for his laziness, though he had yet to make a mistake large enough to catch anyone's attention. The captain had waited patiently for the incompetent sailor to climb back down to the deck, at which point he shot the crewmember where he stood…and then calmly stowed his pistol and continued going about his business, as if nothing had happened.

The sailors had gotten the message, and there had not been a single execution since. While the captain was tough on his men, he was not unfair, nor was he a sadist. Sometimes his punishments could be excessive, but they were only inflicted where they were due. It would be wrong to say that his men loved him, but also wrong to claim that he was hated.

Gwen happened to have some skill with a guitar—not nearly as much as Tami, but Gwen was still pretty good in her own right—and this ended up working heavily in her favor. During her first dinner belowdecks with the rowdy crew of turtle-consort corsairs, she'd taken someone's lute and ended up playing a few of the faster-paced songs she knew. And the corsairs had loved it—many of them drank themselves into stupors by the end of the night.

Gwen considered herself lucky that she was not a female turtle-consort; none of the crewmembers had attempted to make advances towards her. To them, after all, she was an alien. But, alien or not, Gwen was easily one of the more popular people on the ship by the end of that first night.

Gwen was not entirely sure where the _Viridian Wind_ was headed, but after spending over a day marooned on an island with no means of escape…she was content to go wherever the winds carried her. She'd be keeping her eyes open, however, for anything resembling a return node. She knew that she'd have to eventually locate and make her way back to her house in order to continue playing through this game session. But until she could find a plausible way to do that, she might as well enjoy the weather and the sailing.

By her second day on the _Viridian Wind_, which had been yesterday, Gwen had woken before sunrise alongside many of the corsairs. She tagged along with the ship's bosun—an aging turtle-consort named Nothon, who had a heavily weathered and wrinkled face from years of being at sea, a permanent scowl, small black eyes, and a large shell that was light gray with old age. He was covered in his fair share of scars, and the last two fingers on his left hand were missing. His posture, on the other hand, was immaculate. Despite his advanced age and perceived physical weakness, Nothon was a force of nature when it came to maintaining the fragile discipline of the _Viridian Wind's_ corsair crew.

Nothon took Gwen up into the rigging that morning to teach her how to properly tie the knots used by sailors to secure the ropes, as well as the sails. Recalling Aristophanes's story of the lazy corsair who had botched his knots, Gwen made sure she had the knots absolutely mastered by late morning. When the wind strengthened around noontime and Aristophanes gave the order to take in several of the smaller sails, Gwen went up into the rigging with the corsairs and helped them secure the sails to their respective resting positions, applying her newly-learned skills.

After trimming the sails successfully, the ship's bosun decided to take Gwen below to the gun decks. The _Viridian Wind_ had three gun decks, each loaded with roughly forty cannon—twenty on each side. Many of the corsairs above who were stuck with menial tasks, like emptying the latrine buckets or scrubbing the decks, were actually members of the ship's sizable gun crew—they were relegated to menial, ship-wide labor when the _Wind_ was not engaged in battle. Even so, a minimal crew was always maintained by the most seasoned veterans, as well as Tycho, the Master Gunner, whom Nothon introduced Gwen to.

The Master Gunner was another aging consort, his age given away by his raspy voice, his stooped posture, and the heavily-grayed color of his shell, which had been a vibrant reddish-orange hue in his youth. He wore an oily black coat, as well as an eyepatch. If Gwen had to wager a guess, it was that the Master Gunner was a bit older than Nothon, but not by much. Three or five years, maybe.

When Nothon took Gwen belowdecks, they arrived on the first gun deck in time to see Tycho directing a large group of young gunner's mates. The younger consorts were opening the barrels of gunpowder and sifting them, which would keep the gunpowder dry and prevent it from separating. Other gunner's mates were hard at work inspecting the cannon ammunition, making sure none of the cannonballs were falling victim to rust.

Many of them were grumbling, but the complaints were quiet and subdued, not truly meant to leave the personal space of the ones uttering them. The Master Gunner could clearly hear his men grumbling—he'd have to be deaf not to—but he did not react to it. He did not care if they complained, so long as they did their tasks well…which they all did. None of them wanted to spend a week in the brig, or end up looking down the barrel of the captain's pistol.

The gun decks were dimly lit by lamps and whatever daylight managed to seep in from above, though there were more lamps to be lit during the night hours. The air was stuffy and hot belowdecks, and there were dozens of empty hammocks hanging from the ceiling—this was obviously where the crew slept.

At the bosun's behest, the Master Gunner showed Gwen several of the cannon, explaining how they were maintained and cleaned, and then having several of his subordinate crewmen demonstrate how to properly load, fire, and reload them. The cannon portholes were closed at the moment, so Tycho did not actually fire any of the cannon.

Gwen had helped out with the sails several more times yesterday before having the evening meal with the crew and retiring, going to sleep in an unused hammock. And here she was now… Day Three. The wind had kept relatively constant, not requiring any adjustment of the sails for the _Viridian Wind_ to continue holding her current course.

Gwen glanced up to the western sky, watching as Skaia started to sink down towards the horizon. The light from Skaia as it set was caught by all the floating prism rocks and dispersed across the sky in all the colors of the rainbow. The ocean seemed to shine an even more vibrant shade of green in the presence of all the distorted light, appearing brighter even as the daylight in the orange sky started to fade.

Before long, Nothon called for the corsairs assigned to the nighttime watch to assume their positions. One of the turtle-consorts on the nighttime watch scaled the mainmast all the way up to the crow's nest, swapping places with the sentry who had been on watch before him. The bosun then ordered everyone else belowdecks for their evening meal.

Before she could follow the corsairs below, however, Gwen was stopped by Aristophanes. The one-eyed first mate caught her by the arm, getting her attention. "Come, Witch. The captain has invited you to dinner in his cabin."

"Uh…" Gwen glanced towards the stern of the ship, looking at the captain's cabin. "I don't suppose he's 'asking' me?"

"He certainly is not." Aristophanes led Gwen up the deck towards the captain's cabin. "Come; the crew are a lively bunch during dinner, but the captain eats well."

Gwen remained silent as Aristophanes opened the door to the cabin, allowing her inside. The interior of the cabin actually had a comfortable feel to it—there were no rugs, couches, or pillows, obviously; but the bed tucked away in the back, along with the captain's mahogany desk and the rectangular table that was piled with food…this was the closest Gwen would ever feel to home while on a ship.

The food especially reminded her of her Gramps, who for dinners would always make too much food for him and Gwen to eat. Whatever they did not finish, they would eat later as leftovers. Gramps had never thrown away the surplus—he'd always been very sensitive to wasting food, almost to the point where Gwen wondered if he'd been starved as a kid.

She never bothered asking, already knowing what her Gramps's response would be.

The captain of the _Viridian Wind_ was sitting at one end of the table. He was a bit shorter than Aristophanes, and perhaps a couple years younger. His eyes were a bright yellow-orange in color, matching the hue of his shell. He wore a black coat, leather belt, and heavy boots similar to those of his first mate. Instead of wearing a skullcap like Aristophanes, however, the captain wore a rumpled three-cornered hat.

The captain rose to his feet as Gwen was escorted inside, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a slight smile. "You like her?" the consort asked. When the only reply he received from Gwen was a blank face, he clarified himself. "My ship. You like my ship?"

"It's, uh…" Gwen took a moment to search for the right words. She got the feeling that this consort wasn't a person she'd want to piss off. "She's a really good ship. One of the best I've been on." It was the _only_ ship Gwen had ever been on, so technically she wasn't lying.

The captain gave a slow nod while Aristophanes took a seat next to him, on one of the long sides of the table. "I've watched these past three days as you've integrated yourself into my crew. The boys enjoy you quite a bit! I've never seen anyone get the hang of sea life so quickly."

All Gwen could do as she took her own seat was shrug, reaching for something that looked like a giant turkey leg and plopping it down onto her wooden plate. Her stomach growled with anticipation—she had not eaten in a little while. "I've always learned fast. Can't really explain it."

"Well, perhaps I can." the captain leaned forward as Gwen and Aristophanes started to eat, steepling his fingers. "You claimed to be the Witch of Light, no? Or is Aristophanes lying to me?"

Aristophanes gave a snort of amusement as he devoured a turkey leg of his own.

"No, he's not lying; I _am_ the Witch of Light," Gwen said that with more confidence than she had in the past. "Apparently that's some kind of big deal."

"You're right. It _is_ a big deal," the ship's captain affirmed, giving a single nod. "Tell me this…why you? Why are you the Witch? And why have you chosen to come to us now, and not a thousand years ago? I would have answers."

Gwen paused in her efforts to demolish the turkey leg, taking a moment to wipe her mouth. "What, you think I _chose_ this? You think I _chose_ to be the Witch? I didn't choose jack shit—I end up on an island in the middle of the ocean with my grandfather, who's become my spirit guide, and he tells me that I'm the Witch of Light, sends me on my way, and I end up on _another_ island in the middle of the ocean, where you guys found me. End of story."

"Spirit guide…" The captain grew thoughtful. "Do you mean to say that your grandfather became your Sprite? And your presence on that island was a result of your passing through the first gate?"

Gwen was actually startled by the turtle-consort's question. Ever since beginning the shitstorm that this game had turned out to be, Gwen had been overwhelmed by all the knowledge Grampsprite had tried to impart to her, all the crazy shit she had to survive and work her way past, and now… Now, here she was on a ship full of corsair turtles, whose captain was now asking her directly about the game.

Maybe she was not going insane.

"How do you know that?" Gwen had to ask.

"We are all followers of the Light Aspect," Aristophanes answered that one for his captain. "Light is knowledge. There are many things that we know of this world, as well as the incipisphere it exists in."

"But Light is also _fortune,_" the captain went on. "Fortune and Knowledge…both different sides of the same coin. While most of us can only follow one of these paths, it is said that the Witch of Light would be able to command both. Your coming was foretold by the Noble of Light, ten thousand years ago, and we have been waiting ever since. So, yes: being the Witch of Light is a 'big deal', as you so eloquently put it."

"Well sorry for the ignorance, but I'm kind of figuring things out as I go along," Gwen murmured. "A lot's been happening these past few days."

"Then there is much that you must learn," the captain of the _Viridian Wind_ replied, finally taking a turkey leg for himself and getting ready to eat. He never took his gaze off Gwen, however. After taking his first bite and swallowing, the captain cleared his throat and asked Gwen another question. "Tell me, Witch…what do you know of the Library of All?"

Before Gwen could give the question any thought, her thought process was suddenly interrupted by a series of four loud bell tolls in rapid succession. There was a slight pause, and then a second set of four bells rang out. Gwen could hear corsairs shouting on the deck outside.

The captain and his first mate were already rising from their chairs, securing their weapons belts to their waists and donning their respective hats. They looked like they were gearing up for a fight.

"What were those bells?" Gwen asked the two older consorts. "What's going on? Are we getting chased by the Fleet, or whatever you called it?"

"No, not the Fleet," Aristophanes explained as he straightened his skullcap and strode over towards the doors leading outside. "Four rapid bells mean Marauders. Two sets of four mean _two_ Marauder ships. We're in for a wee bit of a fight."

"Marauders?" Gwen got up from her seat, instinctively retrieving her Walther PPK from her strife specibus. "But…but you guys are corsairs—aren't _you_ supposed to be the marauders?"

"Skaia's Light, no," Aristophanes chuckled in response as he opened the doors, allowing the captain to stride through onto deck, where he immediately began taking control of the situation. The first mate beckoned for Gwen to step through the doors before him. "We Corsairs and the Fleetsmen are not the only force on the seas, regrettably…the Marauders are the worst sort to run into. They never leave survivors…and the dead they leave in their wake are never whole or unspoiled, if you catch my meaning."

"Okay…why are these guys so crazy, then? What's their deal?"

Aristophanes fixed Gwen with his stormy gray, one-eyed gaze, still somewhat surprised at her ignorance. "The Marauders are underlings, Witch. Underlings who have taken to the high seas. I'd keep your firearm close; you will need it, soon."


	55. V Chapter 55: Marauders

Chapter Fifty-Five: Marauders

Set in front of the mainmast of the _Viridian Wind_ was a large, heavy, barrel-shaped drum. It was the ship's Cadence, and it was silent for the vast majority of the time. Right now, however, it was not quite so silent.

Gwen Twymann saw that it was Nothon who was responsible for the noise. The _Viridian Wind's_ aging bosun wielded two heavy drumsticks, bringing them pounding down on the surface of the Cadence in a tight, distinct rhythm, making the very timbers of the ship tremor slightly with the rolling, thunderous drumbeats.

The Cadence served as a rallying call to the corsairs—after being alerted of danger by the ship's bell, the Captain had given the order to prepare the crew for battle, resulting in the bosun sounding the Cadence. Any of the sailors who were slumbering were immediately roused, and within seconds the ship was crawling with multiple hundred crewmembers, all reporting to their posts at the same time.

Gwen accompanied Aristophanes to the bow of the ship, weaving her way through the groups of turtle corsairs. Unlike a naval vessel, there did not seem to be a corsair equivalent to a marine complement—instead, all the crewmembers began to arm themselves, getting ready to defend their ship. They pulled scimitars, hatchets, swords, and spears from nooks and crannies in the ship that Gwen had not even known existed. Several of the biggest and strongest corsairs simply wielded thick wooden clubs.

Within twenty seconds, all in the deck crew were armed to the teeth, fully prepared to repel boarders.

The Cadence continued to sound.

As Gwen accompanied Aristophanes, the first mate stopped abruptly and glanced over to her, as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was there. When Gwen moved to join him, the first mate held up a hand. "The top deck is no place for you to be, right now," the one-eyed turtle consort said to Gwen. "You are the Witch of Light—I will not have you torn apart by bloody marauders. Get below and join the Master Gunner."

Gwen tried to argue, but even before she could speak Aristophanes placed a dry, scaly finger on her lips and shushed her, shaking his head, informing her that his decision was final and nonnegotiable. He then instructed one of the burlier crewmembers to escort her belowdecks, in case she was still thinking about disobeying.

As she was escorted towards one of the hatchways, she gazed out to sea, getting a good look at the threat the _Viridian Wind_ faced. Two ships—smaller than the _Viridian Wind,_ and not nearly as heavily armed. As such, the enemy ships were much faster than most other ships, though Gwen wondered if they could match the _Viridian Wind's _speed in a strong breeze. They had black hulls and sails, and had a tattered sort of appearance, their sails still operating normally despite being full of holes. Barnacles had claimed much of their outer hulls. And on the deck, the crew was visible—per vessel, well over a hundred crewmembers…a writhing, frenzied mob of howling, hissing, roaring, and growling creatures; all eager for blood.

The enemy crewmembers were underlings, alright, just as Aristophanes had said. Marauders. Many of them wore clothing—oily coats, three-cornered hats, bandannas, naval uniforms…all clothing taken from previous victims—corsairs and fleetsmen alike, their weapons as well. They were definitely underlings, but they still seemed...different, somehow, from the underlings Gwen had encountered and fought with back in her house. They seemed more organized...smarter, much more vicious. Much more _dangerous_.

And to make matters slightly worse, the question of the _Viridian Wind's_ likely superior speed was a moot one. Exploiting the _Viridian Wind's_ superior speed would require turning into the wind, which in turn would expose the corsair ship's stern to the enemy, which was a big no-no in naval warfare. And since escape—the corsairs' usual 'Plan A'—was an impossibility at the moment, it was time for them to turn to their usual 'Plan B':

_Blow 'em out of the water._

Gwen had every intention of returning to the top deck later, but for now—and Gwen feared she would eat these words later—she was secretly glad to be able to witness this part of the battle. Tycho, the Master Gunner, was making his way down the center of the upper gun deck, barking out orders to his subordinates. Junior officers acting as gun captains hollered orders of their own, commanding the gun crews in their respective sections. The gun ports in the hull were uncovered and the cannons pushed forward into firing position, secured by ropes.

The odor of burning match cord permeated throughout the gun decks as the gunners prepared to fire their weapons. Through the open gun ports, Gwen watched the marauders draw closer and closer, until she could once again see the individual underling creatures aboard the two enemy ships. One of the marauder ships altered its course, moving to cut across the _Viridian Wind's_ stern. The other ship maintained course, forcing the _Viridian Wind_ into a firefight—if the corsairs did not turn to meet the enemy, the marauders would be able to take the corsair vessel from behind.

Gwen had to steady herself as the _Viridian Wind's_ course changed, keeping her balance as the deck shifted. Through the open gun ports, she could still watch what was happening, observing as the _Viridian Wind_ drew up alongside one of the marauder vessels. Though she had never participated in a naval battle, before, Gwen nonetheless knew what was going to follow.

Broadside.

"_Larboard batteries at the ready!_" The order rang out from above, shouted by Aristophanes. "_Blow 'em to the void, Tycho!_"

The Master Gunner relayed these orders, shouting loud enough to be heard on all three gun decks, calmly striding down the center aisles. As the _Viridian Wind_ matched the marauder vessel's course, putting the corsairs parallel to the enemy, the Master Gunner shouted out his most important, if a bit colorfully-worded, order: "_Fire, you shell-shitting bastards! Fire!_"

Every cannon on the left side of the ship roared, spitting fire and smoke. The cannon were rocked back by the force of their shots, but the ropes securing the guns prevented them from being flung across the deck.

Gwen clapped her hands to her ears, her eyes wide with shock at the amount of pain her auditory system was plunged into from the larboard batteries' discharge. A battery of cannon being fired was _much_ louder than Gwen thought it would be. Hollywood really did not do it justice—people would probably stop going to the theaters if realistic-sounding movie explosions started blowing out their eardrums.

Once the cannon were fired, the gunner's hands immediately set about reloading. The spongers hurriedly cleared out the insides of the barrels so that the loaders could then load in the black powder.

The veil of smoke that rose from the broadside prevented Gwen from seeing the damage dealt to the enemy ship, but she hoped it was substantial. And while the cannonade had to have been destructive to the marauders, it did not finish them off, because within five seconds an answering barrage hit the _Viridian Wind_. The corsair ship shook violently as cannonfire tore into her larboard hull. The gun decks immediately became dusty, smoky hellholes as chunks of wood splinters howled through the insides of the corsair vessel, dealing painful wounds to anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in the path of that debris. Two of the cannon had suffered direct hits, gouts of flame exploding right in front of them, sending the unfortunate corsairs who'd been crewing those cannon flying. They did not get back up.

Other crewmembers on the upper gun deck had been wounded by the wood splinters, as well as the middle and lower decks judging by some of the pained yelling coming from below. Those who had suffered wounds ranging from superficial to serious had picked themselves back up and were manning their respective cannons once more, reloading at the Master Gunner's orders. Only those with wounds which prevented them from standing did not rejoin the gun crews—surgeon's mates were climbing to the gun decks to begin moving wounded sailors to the infirmary.

Pain blossomed through Gwen's left arm as she, too, was grazed by a flying splinter of wood, leaving her with a nasty gash close to her shoulder. Gwen clenched her teeth as her brain finally registered the pain, her eyes welling up with tears. She felt a twinge of self-loathing for being in such pain over a wound like this when there were crewmembers lying on the deck all around her with their innards hanging out.

The rest of the gun crews were unfazed by the fate of their less fortunate brethren. They continued reloading their cannon, getting ready for the second inevitable barrage. Once the spongers finished clearing the gun barrels, using long sticks with cloths wrapped around the head, the loaders placed the black powder cartridges in the mouths of the cannon. While the spongers removed the cloth from their sticks and used them to push the black powder down into the cannon, the loaders retrieved cannonballs—or round shot, as it was properly called—from the ammunition barrels. When the loaders returned, they tipped the round shot into their cannon, pushing it all into place with the spongers' ramming sticks.

Even while under fire, even while cannonfire tore through the ship all around them, the corsairs maintained discipline. They moved like clockwork, ignoring their dead and dying brethren as they got the larboard batteries ready for another barrage.

"_You there, girl!_" a voice suddenly shouted, jerking Gwen back to her senses. She hadn't even realized that she'd been in a mild state of shock after the hits the gun decks took from the enemy cannonade. She looked down to where the voice was coming from.

"_Girl! Get down here!_"

It had been the turtle-consort who was serving as the loader for the nearest cannon—their gunner had been killed by the wood splinters in the last volley, and they needed someone to ignite the cannon when the order came. Either one of them could have taken on the duties of the gunner themselves, but they'd seen Gwen standing around doing nothing and decided it would be easier to just grab another person to act as the gunner.

"What's your name, girl?" the cannon's loader—a well-muscled, broad-shelled, thick-necked corsair with large brown eyes, black and red-mottled skin, and three ugly, parallel scars diagonally traversing his bare chest—asked as he picked up a cartridge of black powder and pushed it into the barrel, stepping aside to allow the sponger to ram it down with the ramrod. "You got a name, don't you?"

"_Gwen,_" Gwen replied, trying not to look down as she stepped over what remained of the cannon's gunner to take her place with the gun crew. "Uh…what's yours?"

"Brygos," the loader grunted. "Now be a sweetheart and grab the bloody match cord!"

Now Gwen had to look down at the torn-up body of the cannon's former gunner, reached down gingerly, picked up the firing rod that bore the slow-burning match cord. It was still smoldering, sending thin tendrils of acrid smoke curling up into the air, adding to the ashen odor of discharged black powder that already filled the gun decks.

The cannon was a thirty-two pounder, mounted on a wooden carriage with wheels, which allowed the cannon to be moved without the crewmembers having to actually pick it up. It had likely been a shiny ebony in color, once upon a time, but years of use had reduced the cannon to a dull, grayish-black. Its surface was covered in scorches, little pockmarks, and dents; all signs of the cannon's obviously long and illustrious career. The cannon's name, _Angry Alexandros,_ was on both sides of the barrel, engraved in the metal.

Gwen was about to inspect the cannon further, only to be rudely interrupted when she was nearly thrown off her feet by a change in course. The _Viridian Wind_ jerked suddenly, the deck tilting sharply as the ship began to turn on a tight arc—much tighter than what should have been possible with a ship like this. The corsairs must have been used to this, for none of them lost their footing or even gave any kind of outward reaction to the sudden movement; they simply remained where they stood, some of the less surefooted gunner's hands grabbing hold of the cannons' securing lines to keep themselves steady.

Despite her best efforts, Gwen found herself wondering what could possibly cause the ship to move like this. Too late, she realized that her thoughts were wandering. If she did not clear her head, then-

_A common tactic favored by the corsairs of the Land of Shores and Prisms. So long as there is a strong and favorable wind, it is possible to drop anchor mid-attack, causing one's ship to turn suddenly and swiftly once the anchor finds purchase. This tactic is highly dangerous, capable of causing great harm to the ship executing it; as such, it is rarely ever used outside of battle, and even within battle it is used only as a last resort. The _Viridian Wind, _however, stands exception to these generalizations, due to this particular ship being fashioned by the Noble of Light out of-_

Gwen shook her head several times, pressing her free hand to her temple. She had to focus—she could not afford to let her thoughts wander again, inviting torrents of unwanted information. She came back to her senses just in time to see the hull of the marauder ship sliding on past, growing closer and closer. Just when it looked like the two ships were about to collide, however, the enemy vessel finally cleared the _Viridian Wind's_ tight arc at just the right moment, presenting its stern to the corsairs' larboard batteries.

Gwen had a feeling that this was highly significant, but she-

_Considered the 'checkmate' of naval combat, presenting one's stern to the enemy exposes the vessel's hull where it is weakest. If a battery of cannon could press advantage to such a vulnerability, the likelihood of sinking the-_

"Are you bloody deaf, girl?" Brygos, the loader, shouted right into Gwen's face, yanking her out of her thoughts. "Stand ready!"

Gwen realized that the Master Gunner had ordered the larboard batteries to be at the ready and she'd completely missed what he said. She had to get her thoughts under control, and she had to do it _now_. Gwen gripped the firing rod, lowering the sparking match cord fuse to the cannon's touch hole, stopping just short of the small opening.

The _Viridian Wind_ continued on her tight arc. Gwen saw the corner of the marauder ship turn, glide gently past, its stern finally laid out before the corsairs like a giant target on a shooting range. "_Fire!_" the order came from the Master Gunner, sans profanity this time, roared loud enough to be heard by the gun captains on all three gun decks.

Gwen had never fired a cannon before, but it did not take Light powers or a master's degree in blowing things up for someone to figure out how to use it when they were holding the fuse in their hand. Gwen dropped the match cord into the touch hole, clapping her hands to her ears immediately after. The cannon rocked back, straining the ropes securing it as it thundered and spat smoke and flame.

Once again, the view offered by the portholes was obscured by smoke. It had only just begun to clear when the Master Gunner, relaying orders directly from the captain, shouted for all the gun crews to swap over to the other side of the ship. "Starboard batteries at the ready!" the old turtle-consort snapped, kicking the backside of a younger gunner's hand who was a bit slow on the uptake. "Starboard batteries, move it, move it! Skaia's Light, Diodoros, if your cannon isn't ready to fire before I count to twenty, I will personally toss your worthless shell overboard!"

"This way, girl!" Brygos gripped Gwen by the forearm, dragging her away from the cannon when she failed to immediately react to the Master Gunner's order, displaying a surprising amount of strength. Luckily, the Master Gunner was too busy screaming at slow gunner's hands to notice the teenage girl. Gwen clambered across the slippery gun deck—she continued to avoid looking down, but she knew that it was not water she was sliding on. It wasn't water that was making the gun decks slippery. On top of the odors of discharged black powder and smoke, the metallic scent of blood and another unpleasant smell that Gwen feared was urine now permeated all throughout the gun decks.

Gwen stepped over several mangled bodies, nearly tripping on a severed limb before she made it to the starboard side of the gun deck, quickly jumping in to help Brygos and Abreas—the sponger—get their new cannon into position. The only difference this cannon had from the one Gwen just came from was its name; _Wild Romp_.

_Angry Alexandros_ and_ Wild Romp_. Gwen wondered how whomever these cannon had originally belonged to had gone about naming them.

Abreas gave a low grunt as he pulled open the gun port. While the sponger opened the porthole, Brygos pressed his shoulder to the back of the cannon and heaved it forward, Gwen lending her strength where she could. As she peered through the gun port, Gwen could see the second marauder ship approaching the _Viridian Wind_ at an angle that presented the enemy ship's bow—where the hull was thickest—to the corsairs' starboard battery.

The air in the gun decks had already grown stifling, rapidly approaching the point where it would become unbearable. Gwen's throat burned with every breath from the smoke, and her stomach quivered as the stench of blood, bodily waste, and ash ruthlessly shoved its way through her olfactories. She honestly had no idea how she had not vomited, yet.

There was no time for throwing up.

"Starboard batteries hold!" the Master Gunner called. "Wait for my bloody command, or I'll have your shells cracked!"

Then the marauder ship altered its course, turning to come up alongside the _Viridian Wind,_ its own cannon batteries emerging from the haphazard, splintered gaps in the hull that served as makeshift gun ports. Gwen could see armed imps scurrying about the ship, beaten and spurred along by ogres. Adorning the masts and rails of the marauder ship, like macabre decorations, were strange-looking objects that Gwen quickly realized were giant turtle shells. The significance of this hit her, and she felt even more sick to her stomach.

Brygos noticed Gwen's expression, already knowing what she was looking at. "That's what becomes of the marauders' victims. They don't take prisoners."

"Good thing I don't have a shell," Gwen chuckled in spite of herself, trying to introduce a little humor to keep her nerves down.

Brygos gave a low grunt, giving Gwen a thoughtful glance. "Aye, sure, you ain't got a shell...but you still got skin, don't you? The marauders love skin, they do. And you're a female, so they'll fuck you raw before peeling it all off. And that's if you're lucky—they might save the rape for _after_ the skinning; all depends on their mood, really."

Gwen's mouth snapped shut. So much for her little joke… "Are you afraid of them?" she asked the gunner's hand.

Brygos turned his attention back to the porthole, watching the marauder ship turn parallel to the _Viridian Wind_. "Any man who says he ain't afraid of the marauders is a bloody liar. I've seen plenty of lads join this crew, fillin' the air with all the different ways they were gonna send the marauders screamin' back to the shiteholes they were spawned in…and when they fight the marauders for the first time, when they actually stare down those scum and realize that the marauders are incapable of feeling pain, incapable of feeling fear...they shit themselves."

"Did you?"

"Hm?"

"Did you shit yourself?" Gwen clarified.

That got another round of laughter from Brygos. "Bloody hell, girl, of course I didn't shit myself! I was lucky enough to empty my bowels _before_ my first brush with the monsters—all _I_ did was piss my pants before the first mate had to save my sorry shell. But that was another time."

By then, the marauder ship had drawn close to the _Viridian Wind,_ finally drawing within range of the corsair ship's starboard batteries.

Tycho, the Master Gunner, did not give the marauders the chance to attack first. "_Fire!_" the aging turtle-consort bellowed. "Shred the bastards, lads!"

"Now, girl!" Brygos snapped to Gwen, who promptly lowered the fuse to the cannon's touch hole.

_Wild Romp_ gave an ear-shattering, thunderous roar, bucking back into the ropes keeping it in place. Yet again, fire and smoke blasted out of the cannon's barrel, momentarily obscuring the view of the gun port. Gwen squinted, trying to see through the smoke, trying to see how much damage had been dealt by the starboard batteries.

Gwen's eyes smarted and stung from all the smoke, and she had to rub them to get the pain to lessen and allow herself to see more clearly. She raised her hands to her eyes, trying to get them to stop burning. This probably saved her from becoming temporarily blind, for at that moment the world beyond Gwen's fingers exploded with light.

She was only able to process the light for a microsecond before she felt a furious surge of heat roar right into her, almost as if she had been struck by a sumo wrestler running at full clip. Gwen was blown off her feet, flying nearly all the way to the other side of the gun deck, the remains of _Wild Romp_ silhouetted in the blast. The cannon had been hurled free of its carriage, which in turn had been obliterated into splinters of wood, along with a good part of the ship around it.

Pain was the first thing Gwen felt. Then the adrenaline and endorphins took hold, courtesy of her endocrine system, allowing Gwen to function without having her body throw in the towel at the slightest movement. After the pain came a feeling of… Gwen found difficulty describing it. Numbness? Or maybe not quite so exclusively physical—_detachment,_ perhaps, was a better word to describe it. Or _distanced__._ It felt like there was a barrier between Gwen's thoughts and the world around her. She felt robotic, emotionless; dispassionately observing the action occurring all around her on the gun deck—knowing what was happening, but strangely not caring very much.

Was this what shock felt like?

Then the pain briefly returned, this time in her chest and lungs, piercing through that strange barrier. Gwen realized she was coughing and heaving, focused on it, gradually brought it under control. She was relieved that there was no blood in her coughs.

Gwen blinked several times, staring at the gaping hole in the hull where her cannon had once rested, gazing blankly, uncomprehendingly. Had this really just happened? Had she really almost died in battle on a ship that belonged in the 1800s? If the battle had been surreal for Gwen thus far, if she'd felt like she'd been dreaming in some way...no longer. Everything now felt all too real.

And even if there was someone to whom she could ask those questions, she would not have heard the answer—the only real thing she could hear was a loud, high-pitched ringing in her ears. Well, that was not entirely true; she could still hear the shouting, the screams, the bellows of the Master Gunner…but they sounded faint, distant. Like she was listening to them through several thick walls. Or underwater.

There was a dull pain in Gwen's right shoulder, likely from the way she'd landed, and her head was beginning to throb. Lying immediately to Gwen's left was a brown-skinned arm and part of a shoulder. Not much further away was the rest of the body of Abreas—Brygos's sponger. The corsair's corpse was covered in blood, riddled with wooden shrapnel. And even if Abreas had not been killed by the eight-inch splinter lodged in his throat, the blood loss from losing an arm and shoulder would almost certainly have finished the job.

The corsairs were already setting about reloading the starboard batteries, ignoring Gwen as she slowly picked herself back up. She half-stumbled, half-crawled over to the nearest ladder, grasping at the rungs, pulled herself all the way up, steadied herself, got her bearings. Ever so slowly, her hearing was starting to return—she could catch a few words from all the shouting, now, instead of having it all sound like warped gibberish.

Gwen took a deep breath, something she realized she hadn't done yet. She took a moment to focus on her breathing, establishing a steady pattern. _In, then out_… _In, then back out_…

By then, the starboard batteries had been reloaded, and the Master Gunner was calling for his cannon to be at the ready. Suddenly overcome by a strong urge to get the hell out of the gun decks, Gwen decided that she had waited below long enough. She felt like she was being suffocated, and before she even knew it she was already climbing up the ladder, pulling herself up towards the light, rung by rung.

Pain tore through Gwen's right shoulder every time she reached up to grab the next rung. She looked down at herself and was surprised to find that she was bleeding. She had been struck by another wood splinter. Unlike the last wood splinter that had swiped Gwen, leaving her with a laceration, this splinter was here to stay. It was perhaps three or four inches in length, lodged in her right shoulder. No wonder she was hurting so badly there.

Gwen winced, looked away from the piece of the _Viridian Wind_ that was embedded in her shoulder. She would not be able to remove the splinter until the fight was over without running the risk of heavy bleeding. And if she were to start bleeding heavily now, then by the time the fight was over Gwen would probably be dead or unconscious from blood loss. And so, she did her best to block out the pain, though only with moderate success.

At first, the daylight was harsh on Gwen's eyes, but they quickly adjusted. She never had problems adjusting to new light. She clambered out of the hatchway leading to the gun decks below, breathing in fresh air that smelled of the sea. The odor of black powder was still strong up on the top deck, but the wind did a good job of carrying it away before it could really build up. There were wounded consorts up on the top deck, as well, but thankfully the wind whisked away those other unpleasant smells, as well, before they could reach Gwen's nose.

The deck was bursting with activity; over a hundred corsairs were retrieving their weapons, ferrying black powder and round shot to the lighter deck guns, or moving the wounded so that no one would trip over them. Keeping her breathing steady, Gwen spotted Aristophanes and the Captain on the quarterdeck—the raised portion of the top deck located behind the mainmast. She began to move in that direction, pushing her way through the throng corsairs.

Gwen did not have very much time to enjoy her relief at getting out of the gun decks, because many of the marauders on the second ship had now climbed into their rigging, grabbing hold of free-hanging ropes before leaping into the air, the underlings' bloodthirsty howls clashing with the corsairs' defiant yells and insults. The underling boarders started to swing across the gap between the two ships.

"_Weapons, you dung heaps!_" the captain of the _Viridian Wind_ barked, his voice clearly audible from all parts of the ship despite all the din. "_Send these scum to the void—our bloody shells are _not_ for the taking!_"

The corsairs on the top deck raised their weapons into the air, giving an answering roar, ready to meet the marauder boarders.

Gwen swore under her breath. Out of the frying pan, into the fire; she could not seem to catch a break, today. Luckily, her hearing had more or less returned, so she would not be fighting deaf. Accessing her strife specibus, Gwen retrieved her Walther, barely having enough time to flick off the safety before the first of the marauders landed.

Gwen remembered all the times her Gramps had taken her to the firing range, heard the gravelly voice of Grafton Twymann telling her to relax her stance, steady her breathing, recalled the pain of when her Gramps had first walloped her for accidentally pointing her weapon at another person. Now, it was time to put everything she'd learned into practice.

The first of the marauders released their ropes, hurtling over the railing and landing deftly on their feet. Blood began to spill immediately. Gwen watched, almost in slow-motion, as the first imp to land drew a short scimitar from a scabbard on its belt, slashing out with it and managing to score a hit on the back of a young corsair's legs. The young turtle-consort—who'd clearly never been in a close-quarters fight, before—fell to the deck screaming, his hamstrung leg no longer able to support his weight. The imp leaped onto the fallen consort's chest, bringing its scimitar cleaving down.

The young corsair stopped screaming.

A couple other consorts also fell to the imps as the underlings used their smaller size to their advantage, wounding the consorts' legs, finishing the turtle corsairs off when they fell. But those who fell to these imps were younger crewmembers, were facing marauders for the first time, did not know what to expect or how to prepare.

_No help or advice is given to new recruits by the veterans of a corsair crew. As followers of the Fortune path of the Light Aspect, veteran corsairs believe that new recruits who manage to survive their first battle with no help or advice from their elders, using nothing but their wits and reflexes, are clearly blessed with favorable luck. Corsairs, after all, do not want to have unlucky crewmembers aboard; this could cloud the ship's connection with the Light-_

Gwen raised her Walther and squeezed the trigger, allowing the loud report of the gunshot to snap her out of her own thoughts. She made a mental note of the new information she'd just gleaned, filing it away somewhere in her mind for later study. Right now, though, she needed to focus…

The imp who had been leaping straight for Gwen was caught in midair by the force of the bullet piercing the spot between its eyes, drilling its way out the back of its head. The underling's corpse was pitched back to the ground, dissolving into a pile of grist as it fell. The grist scattered along the deck for a moment before glowing indigo and vanishing into Gwen's grist cache.

Gwen took a deep breath, doing her best to block out any and all possible distractions, which was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing day. It occurred to Gwen that, since playing Sburb and entering this strange dimensional reality earlier in the week, she had not taken her meds. She was prescribed Vyvanse for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD—lately, however, there had been so much happening that even her ADHD was not getting in her way. But that did not prevent it from causing her thoughts to wander at incredibly inopportune moments.

_Like right now!_ Gwen shook her head again, suppressing a burst of profanity as a second imp nearly succeeded in running her through with a crude knife that looked like it was made out of bone. Turtle-consort bone, most likely. Gwen sidestepped the thrust, lashing out instinctively and bringing the butt of her Walther down on the stumbling imp's head, sending the smaller creature crumpling to the deck. Gwen planted a foot on the imp's shoulder and put a round through the back of its head to finish it off, causing its body to dissolve into grist.

By now, multiple dozen imps had swung across the gap and boarded the _Viridian Wind_. There was no strategy to the boarding action—even the ogre marauders who served as the marauder ship's twisted version of 'officers' did not attempt to organize the imps. Gwen could clearly see how these monsters differed from pirates; they were not interested in the _Viridian Wind,_ or in any of the booty she carried, or even in staying _alive_…they simply wanted blood. That was all they wanted.

The sheer simplicity of the underlings' objective was frightening.

Still, the corsairs of the _Viridian Wind_ had been sailing these oceans for a long time. Many of the core group of veterans and officers had even served together in the same crew on various ships—corsair crews were always shifting as they 'acquired' new ships, and also as they lost older ones to the Fleet, to the marauders, or to the sea. But, when compared to that of other corsair vessels, the crew of the _Viridian Wind_ had remained unusually constant.

Even before the information virus in Gwen's mind could start trying to explain to her why the _Viridian Wind_ seemed to be such an exception when it came to the ships that sailed the oceans of LOSAP, the teenager redoubled her focus on the here and now, swiveling her weapon to the left and taking aim at an imp that was about to deliver a killing blow to a fallen crewmember. Gwen squeezed the trigger, felling the imp with a well-aimed shot to the side of its head. The crewmember picked himself back up to his feet and dusted himself off, retrieving his shortsword. Seeing that Gwen was his savior, the corsair offered her a brief nod of thanks—there was no time for a more suitable 'thank you'.

Gwen slowly made her way back to the quarterdeck, killing any imps that attempted to impede her. She also did her best to take out any underlings that were about to kill a consort, but she was only moderately successful—the top deck had turned into a chaotic, churning melee as the corsairs did their best to repel the boarders. There were times when Gwen would not be able to help her consorts because she was equally likely to kill _them_ instead of the underlings; the further away the target, the more impossible it was to get a clean shot.

"_Skaia's Light, girl!_" The voice of Aristophanes filled Gwen's ears as she stepped up onto the quarterdeck. "I told you to stay below! This is no place for-"

"If you want me to go belowdecks, you'll have to kill me!" Gwen declared, cutting off the first mate midsentence as she turned to face him. "Because the only way I'm going back to those gun decks is in a fucking body bag!"

"You would do well to duck, then!"

Gwen's brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to make sense of what the first mate had just said. "What?"

"_Duck!_"

Gwen found that she was already ducking even as she processed what Aristophanes shouted at her. At the very edges of her vision, Gwen could see the blurry shape of a jagged blade slicing through the air where her neck had just been. The moment she ducked, Aristophanes drew one of his flintlock pistols and fired it at something behind Gwen.

As Gwen turned around, she saw that one of the ogre marauders had managed to sneak up on her while she spoke with the first mate, nearly decapitating her with that blow she had barely evaded. Its lifeless body fell to the deck, a still-smoking hole in its face where its right eye had been, displaying where it had been shot by Aristophanes. Gwen silently swore at herself for allowing the ogre to nearly take her from behind like that, vowing not to let it happen again.

Aristophanes stowed his pistol and quickly tripped up the imp he was currently fighting, sending the small underling crashing to the deck on its back. Not giving the imp a chance to recover, Aristophanes thrust his rapier down, impaling the imp through its stomach. He then brought the heel of his boot crushing down on the imp's snarling face, resulting in a grisly explosion of bone, brain matter, teeth, and other such bodily components.

"Good thing about these bloody marauders, if you happen to be searching for a silver lining," Aristophanes grunted, scraping the gore off his boot. "Their bones aren't very strong. Makes for damned good crushing, it does."

Another ogre landed directly on the quarterdeck, swung from the rope it had been holding onto as it jumped from the rigging of the marauder ship. It lunged at Aristophanes, who was able to dive out of the way at the last moment, rolling along the contour of his shell and back onto his feet. It advanced on the first mate once more, only to be distracted by a bullet wound that suddenly appeared in the side of its neck.

The captain of the _Viridian Wind_ lowered his pistol, quickly setting about reloading it. He would not be able to reload his weapon in time, however, before the ogre reached him; that much was certain. Gwen saw this, sprang into action. She set her feet apart, granting more stability to her stance, and emptied the rest of the rest of her magazine into the ogre's skull.

While ogres had very thick skulls, in contrast to the weak-boned imps, even they could not simply shrug off half a magazine of nine-millimeter hollow-point bullets fired from a modern-day Walther PPK. The ogre's corpse started to glow as it was transmuted into a mound of grist even before its body hit the deck—a significantly larger-sized mound than those left by vanquished imps. The grist melted away from its tangible form, storing itself within Gwen's grist cache.

The captain quietly finished reloading his pistol, eyeing Gwen's handgun with a fair amount of interest. "What kind of weapon did you say that was?" the older turtle-consort asked Gwen, taking a moment to adjust his three-cornered hat even as another wave of imps swarmed the quarterdeck; either from scaling the _Viridian Wind's_ hull and vaulting over the railings, or swinging directly in via loose rope.

"It's what your pistol will be in a couple hundred years!" Gwen shouted back, allowing the empty magazine to drop free from her handgun, retrieving a fresh one mentally from her strife specibus, silently thanking her Gramps, who had included a massive amount of ammunition within the specibus for Gwen to use in a pinch. And she was certainly in a pinch, right now.

Gwen was not sure if the captain heard her or not. She was briefly aware of the older turtle-consort being engaged by another ogre and a small group of imps, pressed into fighting back-to-back with Nothon, the ship's bosun. The aging bosun wielded a small hatchet in one hand and a dagger in the other, which struck Gwen as an interesting combination. He used the hatchet much more frequently, felling imps with powerful hacks and slashes before they could get too close, saved the dagger for when an underling got past his guard and needed to be dealt with up close.

The captain drew a rapier of his own, wielding it with his free hand and bringing it up to deflect the ogre's latest blow. The ogre was wielding a massive club that already had several bloodstains on it, and it did not relent with it, did not give the captain a moment of breathing time. It was hell-bent on making the captain the latest stain on its weapon.

The captain deflected the latest blow from the ogre marauder's club—his rapier, being a rapier, lacked the strength to fully block an enemy strike, but a swordsman skilled with that blade _could_ use it to meet and simply divert the energy of a more powerful enemy blow. And when the ogre's blow was diverted…until it was able to recover its energy and come at the captain again, it was _vulnerable_.

Even as the ogre's blow was deflected and the heavily-muscled underling stumbled past, the captain pivoted on one foot and planted himself behind the off-balanced marauder. His pistol had already been aimed, the trigger pulled before Gwen could fully process how fast the captain was moving. The ogre continued to stumble even as a lead bullet punched through the back of its head, lodging in its brain. The underling's head flopped forward and its body crashed to the deck, blood already pooling around it.

The ogre was not killed by Gwen, so its corpse would remain, fouling up the quarterdeck until it was disposed of.

A few moments later, Gwen clapped her hands to her ears as the _Viridian Wind's_ starboard batteries opened fire once more. This time, she could see large chunks of the marauder ship getting blasted away by the power of the _Viridian Wind's_ guns, several of the enemy vessel's cannon successfully obliterated. Unfortunately, while the latest broadside was certainly a spectacle to behold, it had not dealt any major damage to the marauders.

The captain obviously arrived at the same conclusion, for irritation was the most evident emotion being conveyed by his facial expression and tone of voice. "This is bloody pointless unless we can get the scum dead in the water!" he exclaimed to Aristophanes, pausing momentarily to skewer an imp marauder that attempted to slash his legs. "Have the Master Gunner take out their mainmast!"

Gwen was no expert on swordsmanship, but it was not difficult to recognize the fact that the ship's captain was a master with the blade by observing how he was effectively able to hold entire groups of underlings at bay, all by himself, using nothing but his sword. Aristophanes, however, seemed to be the only one who clearly outstripped the captain in skill—while the captain would duel groups of underlings and take them down one by one, the first mate looked as if he were performing some sort of intricate, graceful dance. He glided from one foot to the other, one position to the next, one spot to another; and wherever he went, marauders would fall.

Aristophanes, who was currently in the middle of singlehandedly fending off an axe-wielding ogre marauder and three accompanying imps, acknowledged the captain's order with a quick nod. He immediately stopped toying with the ogre and twirled his rapier in a circle around the underling's battle axe, wedged his thin blade under one of the axe's blades, sent the weapon spinning away off the quarterdeck. He dispatched the ogre with a lightning-fast strike to the throat.

With the ogre dead, the three surviving imp marauders all set upon Aristophanes at once. The first mate calmly took a step back, plunging his blade into the chest of the leading underling, quickly withdrawing his weapon from the now-deceased marauder's corpse before the others could reach him. He took a second step back, slashing his rapier to the side as the second underling attacked, catching the smaller creature across its throat.

Even as the second imp crumpled to the deck, choking on its own blood, Aristophanes surprised the third imp by suddenly taking a step forward, breaking his pattern. As the startled marauder attempted to backpedal, Aristophanes lashed out with his free arm, wrapping it around the seafaring imp's neck, jerking it around until he heard a satisfying crunch. The imp's body went slack and lifeless, sprawling out on the deck after Aristophanes dropped it.

The first mate then took a step forward, grasped the railings of the quarterdeck, raised his voice in order to be heard by the Master Gunner over the sounds of battle. "_Starboard batteries hold! Load chain-shot and aim true!_" Aristophanes cupped a hand to his mouth as he bellowed the captain's instructions to the gun decks below. The gravelly tones of Tycho, the Master Gunner, could faintly be heard barking out orders of his own, swearing at and layering abuse upon the corsairs manning the starboard guns, relaying the orders given indirectly to him by the captain. Even after the marauder ship returned fire with a barrage of its own, Tycho could still be heard cursing and shouting like normal, as if nothing had happened, his voice carrying up from below as more smoke and dust billowed from the open hatchways.

It would take more than a barrage of enemy cannonfire and flying wood splinters to faze the aging Master Gunner.

Gwen raised her Walther PPK and squeezed off the first shot from the fresh magazine, catching an imp in the right of its chest. The marauder imp had been running towards a corsair who was in the process of finishing off a dying ogre—fortunately for the corsair, the imp collapsed from the gunshot wound in its chest.

Before Gwen could see whether or not the imp had died from the gunshot, she was set upon by another two of the smaller, deadly creatures. The marauders did not have unending numbers, but there sure did not seem to be any end to the onslaught in sight—Gwen still had yet to have a moment to catch her breath since she'd first come back to the top deck. She shot the leading imp in the left side of its chest, blowing a hole right through where she guessed its heart to be. The imp immediately dissolved into grist, so Gwen's aim had been true.

Pain lanced through Gwen's leg, suddenly, causing her to falter and nearly lose her balance. A third imp had made its way onto the quarterdeck while Gwen shot the first marauder underling through the heart. It moved low and fast, skittered around Aristophanes as the first mate sent another clutch of its kinsmen to the afterlife, avoiding the deadly reach of the one-eyed turtle-consort's rapier, and moved on Gwen, whose left side was exposed. As it charged Gwen, it swung its scimitar down towards her left leg, aiming to hamstring the teenager.

Luckily, Gwen had taken a step back at the moment of the strike, so the imp's blade ended up slicing across the side of her thigh, missing the hamstrings altogether. The resulting wound was quite painful, but it was little more than a deep flesh wound—no muscles had been damaged. And Gwen's step back had placed her next to the third imp, so she seized the unique opportunity presented to her and inverted her grip on her Walther, brought the handgun around, brutally clubbed the imp across the face with the butt of the handgun.

Moving almost robotically, as if her body had gone on autopilot and allowed her instincts and reflexes to take control, Gwen held her Walther in a proper grip once more and finished off the pistol-whipped imp with a follow-up shot to the head before snapping her aim back in its original direction, firing twice at the second imp as it tried to charge at her with its bone knives in either hand, catching the hapless underling in the upper torso both times. The three fresh corpses all reverted to grist at roughly the same time as one another.

When the starboard batteries fired once more, perhaps thirty seconds had elapsed since the captain had given the order. Thirty seconds was really not all that much time, in the grand scheme of things; but in the thick of a furious melee where a momentary wandering of one's thoughts could result in instant death…thirty seconds felt much longer than half a minute. Half a _day,_ more like.

Gwen had reloaded twice already, and was slotting a fourth magazine into her Walther when the starboard batteries roared. This barrage was much quieter than the last ones; Gwen realized that, because of the angle required for cannon to fire on an enemy top deck, only the batteries on the uppermost of the _Viridian Wind's_ three gun decks were being used.

Plumes of smoke and gouts of flame blasted from the corsair cannon, but this barrage yielded much less damage due to its being aimed at the marauder ship's top deck. The gunner's hands, instead of loading the cannon with normal round shot, had followed the captain's orders and used chain-shot—a special type of ammunition formed by taking two round shot cannonballs and connecting them with a chain. Both the chained cannonballs would be loaded into the cannon and fired at the same time, whereupon the chain connecting them would cause the two cannonballs to constantly whiplash around one another as they flew.

And had Gwen not already known what chain-shot was primarily used for, then today she would have learned something new. Bits and pieces of the marauder ship's already splintered and jagged railings were shattered even further by the barrage of chain-shot as the _Viridian Wind's_ gun crews attempted to hit their target.

No one knew which gun crew made the critical shot, but that was an issue that would be endlessly argued over by the corsairs serving on the gun deck, _after_ the end of the battle. For now, cheering was the only noise the gunner's hands made when the barrage ceased and a loud, angry _**CRACK**_ was heard from the enemy ship in response. For a moment, nothing on the marauder ship moved. Then another crack rang out, and another…and finally, underscored by a series of smaller snapping and splintering noises, the mainmast of the marauder vessel slowly started sagging to one side. The entire marauder ship seemed to groan as its mainmast fell; its sails tearing like tissue paper, lines snapping like overstretched rubber bands. It leaned further and further over until it reached a critical point and snapped completely, slammed into the deck below, hopefully taking a few underlings with it.

"_Nicely done, Tycho,_" Gwen heard Aristophanes mutter to himself. "_Nicely done._"

On the other side of the _Viridian Wind,_ the front third or so of the first marauder ship, which the _Viridian Wind_ had just gutted through the stern, was still poking out above the surface of the ocean, though more and more of it slipped away by the minute. Marauders from that ship could be seen floundering about in the water—imps and ogres clawing at the water, trying to keep afloat right up until the point when the waves closed over their heads and the green ocean claimed them. That ship, and all evidence that it ever existed, would be gone within the next few minutes. As for the second ship…

Without its mainmast, the second ship was not going anywhere fast, leaving it essentially at the mercy of the corsairs. And corsairs were not particularly merciful towards marauders in _any_ situation; not to mention towards these marauders that were attempting to torch their ship, slaughter them, and then desecrate their bodies. The marauders were animals—dangerous animals; much more intelligent, cunning, and deadly than the underlings who dwelled on land—but animals nonetheless.

They were incapable of mercy. And so they received none.

Less marauders were swinging the gap and boarding the _Viridian Wind,_ by now. The first few large waves of underlings had already thrown themselves against the corsairs, leaving only the smaller groups of stragglers to join the fray. But the marauders were no longer streaming onto the corsair ship at an alarming rate.

As if they could sense the wane in the number of underlings now attacking them, the corsairs seemed to start growing bolder, felling marauders with more fervor and zeal. The turtle-consorts were rallying on their own, ever so slowly grouping up with each other and pushing the marauders back towards the starboard railings.

The seafaring imps and ogres did not suffer a lapse in energy or bloodlust, however—just because the corsairs' morale was increasing did not mean the marauders were losing any desire to fight. They were beyond the idea of morale; they would butcher the turtle-consorts who crewed the _Viridian Wind_ and decorate their own ship with the shells of the fallen corsairs, or they would die trying. Such was their nature, incomprehensible to the civilized. The corsairs pushing the marauders back found that they had to keep their guard up constantly, or else risk falling prey to misfortune.

While his crew started to beat back the underling boarders, the captain assessed the state of the damaged marauder vessel, making a snap decision on what his next course of action should be. Once he was satisfied, the captain turned around and called over to his first mate, issuing his next set of orders. "Have Tycho stand down; we no longer require the main batteries. Lead the gunner's hands down to the bilges and have them take up oars—where I point, you will have them follow."

"_Aye._" Aristophanes gave an answering nod, continuing to fight off additional marauders even as he made his way off the quarterdeck, wading through the chaos that had taken hold of most of the top deck and vanishing down the nearest hatchway to the gun decks below.

Another ogre, this one armed with a giant hammer, of all things, leaped up onto the quarterdeck, the latest in a long string of challengers. It held its hammer high, letting out a deafening, raw-throated, bloodthirsty roar as it lunged towards the captain, ready to crack the turtle-consort's shell into a hundred pieces, ready to squish all the softer bits underneath. The captain calmly turned to face the marauder, not even slightly fazed by the underling's howling, pulling his rapier back as he prepared to intercept the charging ogre.

The captain could already see the strike in his mind. Quick evasion to avoid the ogre's inevitable first blow, which will also be its strongest—leaving it vulnerable for a crucial moment or two as it recovered from the miss. A clean thrust, slip the rapier between the ogre's ribs, and withdraw just as neatly after-

But then, just as the captain was about to strike, even before he was finished visualizing it, the ogre stopped short abruptly. A hatchet had flown seemingly out of nowhere, burying itself vertically in the ogre's face with a dull _thunk_, cleanly bisecting the brutish underling's left eye, as well as the socket and skull underneath. The captain gave a start, nearly thrusting his sword forward to attack what was now only empty air. Nothon, who had been fighting off underlings behind the captain, jogged over to the dead ogre and grasped the handle of his hatchet, yanked it free with a stomach-turning squelch, wiped the blade off on the dead ogre's coat.

While the captain was slightly irritated at having been robbed of his rightful kill, it worked out nicely because Nothon was the one to whom he needed to give his next set of orders. "_Bosun!_" the corsair captain called out to his subordinate, getting the older consort's attention.

"Apologies for interruptin' the cap'n an' his killin's," the old bosun started to apologize in a wearied tone, believing the captain to be about to tear him a new one. "I threw me bloody hatchet, I did, threw it 'afore I could see that I was aimin' at your next-"

"Still your fucking tongue, old man!" the captain cut Nothon off midsentence, lacking both the time and patience to listen to the rest of what the bosun had to say. The captain had orders to give, and he had to give them _now_. "The marauder ship is dead in the water; I want to take us around on a finishing pass and send the rest of the scum to the void. Take in sail and ready the pyroshot."

Nothon, not fazed or bothered in the slightest by the tongue-lashing he'd just received, promptly left the quarterdeck as he started thundering out orders of his own. Once they heard the bosun's familiar tones shouting out orders, even if they were otherwise engaged, members of the rigging crews quickly disengaged from the melee and scampered up the masts and lines into the higher reaches of the ship, setting about pulling in the sails and tying them off to their spars. Once this was accomplished, the _Viridian Wind_ ceased whatever portion of her forward movement that was powered by the wind in her now-furled sails, slowing down considerably.

Despite no longer having the wind in her sails, however, the _Viridian Wind_ continued to drift forward at a much faster speed than the marauder ship, quickly leaving the enemy vessel behind until Aristophanes's rowers down in the bilges got their oars into the water and started rowing. The rowers on the starboard side performed backstrokes, rowing backwards while those on the ship's port side continued rowing normally, causing the corsair ship to turn in a gradual, clockwise arc.

Slowly, the corsair ship came about to face the crippled marauder vessel. The two ships were now facing each other, bow to bow. While the captain of the _Viridian Wind_ coordinated with Aristophanes to direct the rowers, Nothon was hard at work at the very front of the ship. He worked with several of the younger crewmembers, whom he'd dragged along with him and pressed into service. They were doing the _Viridian Wind_ more service by assisting the bosun than they were by fighting the boarders, anyway. The bosun had set the younger sailors to purpose, having them operate what appeared to be a large, wooden, T-shaped pump that was built into the deck.

When not in use, the pump handle was stored within the actual planking of the deck, but now it had been pulled up from its resting place. The turtle-consorts helping Nothon pushed the pump handle down, until it was nearly touching the deck, before bringing it back up to waist height. They then pushed it back down again and brought it right back up a second time. And so they toiled, repeating the up-down cycle several times, building up the pressure.

While the younger crewmembers operated the pump, Nothon donned a pair of heavy, perhaps leather gloves, and retrieved a long coil of some sort of flexible material that looked almost like some sort of leather. It seemed to Gwen like a crude progenitor to one of those large hoses that firemen used, only a bit smaller in width and not nearly as long. Gwen also noted how strange the inside of the hose looked—it was an odd, off-white color, and it almost seemed to cast reflections like a mirror. Some sort of special lining, perhaps?

Gwen had a feeling that when the hose was put into play, it would not be siphoning water.

Located just behind the bowsprit was a small, cylindrical pedestal with flames painted around the sides, the sun-like symbol of the Light Aspect emblazoned on the very top. It was made of hardwood; a different, darker-colored wood than the green wood that the ship was made out of. In the middle of the Light symbol was some sort of opening that Gwen could not quite make out, but she was sure it was an opening because—squinting in order to see more clearly, with meager success—she then saw Nothon insert one of the ends of his hose-like tool into the top of the pedestal, twisting it counterclockwise slightly to lock it in.

The bosun then took the other end of the hose, which had a metal nozzle attached onto the head of the hose, and started to climb out onto the bowsprit. He edged out onto the frontward-protruding spar, nozzle in one hand, using his free hand to steady himself by grabbing the bobstay line—the rope attached to the end of the bowsprit that ran all the way back to the stern. After a few seconds of centering himself, the bosun let go of the bobstay and stood on his own, balancing himself on the bowsprit even as the ship was moved forward by the progress of the gunner's mates-turned-rowers.

While all this was happening, Gwen continued to fend off underlings on the quarterdeck. She had to be constantly moving—if she stood in one place for too long, it was only a matter of time until an imp was able to surprise her from behind or above. Gwen was nearing the point where she felt the impulse to shoot anything nearby that moved, and she'd had to stifle that impulse several times when the ship's captain turned out to be the one who was moving. Accidentally shooting the captain would have been very bad, so Gwen took great care not to let her instincts and reflexes take _too_ much control.

The marauders on the _Viridian Wind_ seemed only to fight even harder when the corsair ship pulled away from the enemy vessel, leaving it behind. The corsairs were not necessarily fighting for their lives, any longer, but they were still locked in combat with an incredibly dangerous foe. A foe whose energy and bloodlust had not decreased in the slightest since the beginning of the fight. The corsairs' victory was no longer in doubt, but it still had yet to be achieved. The turtle-consorts would not drop their guard until they saw the ocean claim the last of the marauders.

Gwen went on helping the captain rid the quarterdeck of any imps and ogres that dared board it, earning the captain's respect for her accuracy with the Walther. While she had not exactly enjoyed all her Gramps's strict shooting lessons throughout childhood, all the annoying trips to the firing range he'd taken her on instead of just going to the park, like she'd wanted…while she had not enjoyed them, she was now incredibly grateful for them. She did not want to imagine how much of a fail with the Walther she would have been today, had her Gramps _not_ trained her beforehand.

Finally, as the _Viridian Wind_ completed her rightward, clockwise arc, and now began to advance on the crippled marauder ship, the corsairs were able to get the marauder boarders under control. By then, all the ogres had been slain, leaving only a couple dozen imps as all that was left of the rather sizable marauder boarding party.

The turtle-consorts stuck close together, not letting the imps cause any further mayhem by separating them. By now, those new additions to the crew who were lucky enough to still be alive had learned the hard lessons their bloodied and deceased kinsmen had taught them with their deaths. It was very much a real life example of 'baptism by fire' that Gwen was witnessing—there were no crewmembers on the _Viridian Wind,_ now, who could still be called fresh-faced.

Everyone was a veteran, now.

More and more of the underlings fell to the corsairs' blades. After shooting down a clump of four imps that tried to rush at and overwhelm the captain, Gwen found herself able to take pause and breathe in a few deep breaths—the remaining marauders stopped trying to take the quarterdeck, now focusing solely on taking as many corsairs down with them as they possibly could. The teenage girl limped over to the starboard side of the quarterdeck and propped herself up with the railing, wincing at the pain that flared in her leg and shoulder with each new movement. The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off, leaving Gwen receptive to the pain of her wounds once again.

Gwen watched the corsairs mop up the now-few remaining imps, until the very last surviving marauder found itself suddenly impaled by five or seven different weapons all at once—spears, cutlasses, and what appeared to be a shortsword. The corsairs who felled that final marauder tore their weapons from its corpse somewhat violently, effectively ripping it to pieces, spitting on the grisly remains.

There were still many marauders left onboard the enemy vessel, and so the corsairs did not allow themselves to relax. The enemy was defeated, but not destroyed. The corsairs remained wary, gathering towards the starboard railings as the _Viridian Wind_ neared the marauder ship, preparing for any kind of potential future boarding attempt by the surviving underlings.

Gwen was curious to see what came next. She'd been expecting the captain to hit the marauder ship in the stern with another cannon barrage, but he seemed to have other plans. And besides, with most of the gunner's hands acting as rowers down in the bilges of the ship, there was no one really available at the moment to fire the starboard batteries, anyway. No, the captain obviously had something else up his sleeve.

Once again, Gwen's attention was drawn to the bow of the ship, where Nothon was still standing perfectly balanced on the bowsprit, nozzle in hand and ready.

While the turtle-consorts seemed to go about their duties on this ship with a slightly more laid-back attitude than what Gwen would have expected on, say, a military vessel—keeping in tune with these consorts' piratical nature—the corsairs clearly were not messing around when it came to whatever the mechanism at the very front of the ship was, whatever Nothon and company were busy operating. No one came near the bowsprit, the flame-painted hardwood pedestal, or the crewmembers operating the pump.

As the marauder ship grew close, Nothon pulled a length of match cord from his belt, lighting the end of the slow-burning fuse with a match, clutching it in his free hand. He aimed the nozzle on the end of the leather hose squarely at the marauder ship, holding the burning match cord underneath the nozzle's mouth.

The corsair ship drew closer and closer to the demasted marauder vessel with every stroke the rowers gave, until the rowers were ordered by Aristophanes to slow their pace, reducing the _Viridian Wind's_ speed even further. It was at that point, as the _Viridian Wind's_ bowsprit started to edge past the very front of the marauder vessel, when the captain gave the order.

"Torch the scum, bosun!" the captain commanded.

Nothon rapped out an order of his own, and one of the corsairs operating the pump handle hurried over to the hardwood pedestal. Gwen watched the younger consort feel around the sides of the pedestal, saw him find purchase. There were hidden handles on the sides of the pedestal, she realized; handles which the turtle-consort now tightly gripped, awaiting further instruction.

"Ready to fire?" Nothon hollered back to the corsair on the pedestal.

"Ready to fire!" the younger turtle-consort shouted back in reply.

Nothon gave the last order, which was more of a warning than anything else. "Firing the pyroshot! _Stand clear!_"

The consort gripping the handles on the pedestal now heaved, pulling the entire pedestal upwards out of the deck. The pedestal was taller than it appeared, however, extending deep down into the depths of the corsair ship. It did not come free of the deck—it was merely raised by a foot or so, part of a mechanism that allowed the built-up pressure from the pump to be released and concentrated.

Nothon managed to keep his footing as a fine, odorless, almost clear substance came bursting forth from the nozzle, visible in its inert state only for the briefest of moments before it reacted with the match cord and violently exploded into a gushing torrent of fire. It was a very strange substance…some very unusual union of fire and liquid. Some of it fell into the ocean below, where it continued to burn even as it floated on the surface of the water.

Under Nothon's guidance and direction, the 'liquid fire' was sprayed onto the marauder ship. Wherever the incendiary substance landed, fires took hold. The pressure built up by the pump was concentrated by being channeled only through the release nozzle, which was what gave the liquid fire enough range to hit the enemy vessel. Nothon increased the angle at which he was holding the nozzle, sending the pressurized liquid fire crackling up into the air, and then right back down onto the deck of the marauder ship in a neat arc. He was also careful to hit the side of the enemy ship, setting fire to the lower portions of the hull in order to speed the process along.

The rowers maintained an even pace, bringing the _Viridian Wind_ gliding past the burning marauder ship. Nothon continued to rain fire on the marauder vessel the whole time, stopping only when the _Viridian Wind_ had passed the enemy ship, taking his liquid fire out of range. The corsair vessel now rang out with cheers and thunderous cries of victory, as well as a deluge of insults directed at the unfortunate marauders. Turtle-consorts roared with laughter and pointed, enjoying themselves as they watched the marauders scramble to avoid the flames—some jumped into the ocean, where they quickly drowned, while others remained onboard and were eventually consumed by the corsairs' unnatural fire.

Gwen watched the whole thing unfold, her eyes wide with awe as the flames tore through the marauder ship, much faster than any normal fire would, thick black smoke gushing into the sky. The second enemy vessel did not really sink like the first one did—rather, enough of it was burned away that it ended up collapsing in on itself. The larger, heavier pieces of wreckage sank straightaway, while the smaller pieces of charred flotsam remained afloat, some of them still stubbornly on fire.

And these, too, eventually slipped underneath the waves, leaving the _Viridian Wind_ as the sole occupant of this particular part of the sea.

With the marauders now an unpleasant memory and the _Viridian Wind_ still going strong, the corsairs now started to perform one of the least desirable tasks of any battle—the cleanup that followed. The oars were retracted and the rowers were ordered to stand down, allowed to leave the bilges; the rigging crews called down to deck. Dead bodies—underling and consort alike—were gathered up and dumped overboard.

The surgeon's mates moved from wounded to wounded, determining the severity of the fallen corsairs' conditions. Those who could be saved were picked up and moved below to the infirmary. Those whose wounds were too grave were given a bit of rum and moved to the top deck—when they died, their bodies would also be dumped overboard. The youngest of the corsairs retrieved scrubbing blocks and buckets from belowdecks, and they set about the daunting task of scouring the blood from the top deck.

As for Gwen, she remained on the quarterdeck, still half-numb from everything that had just happened. Corsairs offered her grunts and nods of respect when they moved past her, something they had not done in the past. Perhaps Gwen had proven herself to them in some way, having survived her first tangle on the high seas.

After the battle was over, the captain retired to his cabin, as was his right, leaving the cleanup to be overseen by his first mate. After supervising the disassembly of the fire-spewing pyroshot, Aristophanes returned to the quarterdeck, joining Gwen there. A faint grin tugged at the corners of the one-eyed turtle-consort's mouth as he saw Gwen's face, recognized the expression she wore all too well, recognized it from his own first brush with the marauders.

"And those, my dear Witch, were marauders," the first mate declared jovially, as if he were moonlighting as a tour guide. He reached into an inner pocket in his greatcoat and produced a small, silver flask. He opened the flask and took a sharp swig—a subtle twitch of the upper lip the only outward reaction given in response to the strength of the flask's clearly potent contents. "They leave quite a first impression, do they not?"

"Well, uh..." Gwen searched for the right words to do that understatement justice, but came up short. She was still feeling a bit out of sorts, dazed... She would need to get someone to look at her wounds, soon. "Well, you can say that again..."

"Quite a first impression, indeed." Aristophanes blinked his lone, stormy gray eye, regarding Gwen with amusement. He took another swig from his flask, stoppered it, stowed it back within his greatcoat. "And congratulations are in order; you faced the marauders for your first time without shitting or wetting yourself! Now, _that's_ something to be proud of!" And with that, the first mate started to leave the quarterdeck, gesturing for Gwen to follow him belowdecks. "Come, now, let us get you down to the infirmary and see to your shoulder. If we leave that splinter in for too long, you might lose the whole bloody arm!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note<em>**

_Hey, readers, I'm back! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up - I just got finished with my university theatre department's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was super fun and I had the time of my life; thing about being in a show is that it consumes your social life and free time for a couple months! But now it's done, and I can start trying to get back into updating more frequently!_

_Thanks, and enjoy!_

_-TheAmateur_


	56. V Chapter 56: Wounds

Chapter Fifty-Six: Wounds

What a strange day Gwen Twymann had just barely managed to live through.

If Gwen thought she had ever experienced a really strange day before in her life, then she would have wanted to relive that really strange day in order to regain some small sense of normality. The past five days alone had been enough to make the rest of Gwen's life seem like a distant dream.

She escapes the apocalypse and arrives on a tropical ocean planet inhabited by human-sized, sentient turtle people, otherwise known as _consorts_. She encounters several of these consorts, who turn out to be pirates in some meaning of the word, and joins the crew of the _Viridian Wind,_ one of the most well-known and infamous corsair vessels throughout the Land of Shores and Prisms, not to mention one of the oldest ships on the planet.

If that was not weird enough, throw in the fact that the Land of Shores and Prisms, in addition to the Corsairs and the Fleet, also happened to have _underlings_ sailing the high seas; known to the consorts as _marauders_. Barbaric, merciless, bloodthirsty, cunning underlings who had learned to sail their own ships, preying ruthlessly on those who traveled on LOSAP's green oceans.

Earlier today, the _Viridian Wind_ had an encounter with two of these marauder vessels. While the corsairs ultimately were able to not only repel the marauders who boarded the ship, but also _destroy_ both enemy vessels…it had certainly not been bloodless. Fourteen corsairs had lost their lives in the fighting—Gwen was taken aback, at first, believing this to be a high number of deaths. However, it seemed to be perfectly average, judging from the other corsairs' lack of any sort of reaction to the loss of fourteen of their kinsmen.

Perhaps the veteran corsairs had simply accepted these losses as a normal part of life on the high seas, giving fourteen deaths no more attention or interest than they would at finding weevils in their hardtack biscuits. They had been sailing the oceans of LOSAP as corsairs or former fleetsmen for years, after all; sometimes even multiple decades. Most of them had probably lost count of all the comrades they'd seen die, and many had probably lost count a long time ago. Gwen, on the other hand, had never set foot on a real ship before she'd arrived here—it still took more than a little getting used to.

It was evening, now. Speaking in strictly temporal terms, the end of the day was quite near. The actual day, however, was far from over. The night was just getting started, and Gwen had decided to just give up trying to cling to her sense of normality, her tendencies toward rational thought. She had just survived a battle with a whole bunch of crazed, berserk, seafaring underlings who had a morbid fascination with doing disgusting things to their victims—she needed to relax and let herself unwind.

And on a vessel full of corsairs, relaxation had a very loose, general definition.

The ship's surgeon—a crotchety, middle-aged, tan-skinned consort by the name of Nikomedes—had been hard at work ever since the end of the battle, doing his best to tend to the wounded. He had sharp brown eyes, and an ugly scar that ran diagonally across his shell—it must have been cracked, at some point in his earlier life. Nikomedes spent the entire day performing surgery on the most critically-wounded corsairs, making sure they stabilized before moving on to treat those with wounds that were not quite so severe.

The splinter in Gwen's right shoulder did not qualify as severe, so Nikomedes ended up tossing her a cloth doused in some sort of foul-smelling liquid that would keep her wounds from becoming infected. He did not even bother look at the laceration on Gwen's leg, from where an imp marauder had attempted to hamstring her. He sent Gwen on her way, leaving her to dab gingerly at her wounds with the medicine-soaked rag until evening.

As of right now, Gwen was trying not to tear up as she drained the last remnants of wine from the wooden cup she'd been given. "_Another!_" she roared, hurling the empty cup to the floor. "I ain't drunk enough, yet, turtle guyz—let's keep 'em comin'!"

"Wine for the Witch!" Inaros—one of the younger members of the crew, as well as one of the first consorts whom Gwen had met—blurted out, his own tongue already loosened considerably by the contents of the wine casks that were being brought up from the cargo hold to celebrate the corsairs' victory over the marauders.

The cry was infectious, and within seconds there were roughly two-hundred inebriated corsairs clamoring for the Witch to have more wine. Before Gwen could even join in the ruckus, another wooden cup full of wine found its way into her hand. She took several deep swallows, relishing the taste of the potent drink. This wine—the wine of LOSAP—tasted much fruitier than any wine Gwen had tried before back home. It was midnight black in color and fermented from fruits that were similar to grapes, but ended up yielding a much higher alcohol content. The intricacies of the chemical reactions of fermentation were a mystery to Gwen, and her Light powers thankfully did not attempt to explain them to her.

This was Gwen's fourth cup, and, despite what she said to the corsairs, she already felt happily drunk, finally able to let all the worries and stresses from the battle earlier in the day just slide away, gently falling away like the seeds of a wisher in a calm breeze. For the first time in a while, she was able to simply enjoy herself for the sake of enjoying herself. She did not have to be constantly suppressing her wandering thoughts, she did not have to worry about where her friends were, she did not have to dwell on the horrible things she'd witnessed during the battle... Of all the things she'd seen and heard, it was the _smells,_ ultimately, that would haunt her the most.

But it was all finished, in the past. Gwen could now simply have a grand old time with some turtle pirates. How often does someone get to party hard with sentient turtles who also happened to be booze-loving corsairs? Not very often.

But, to be perfectly honest, relieving stress and relaxing were only _secondary_ reasons why Gwen was drinking so much wine.

The primary reason for Gwen's inebriation stemmed from Nikomedes, who waited patiently behind Gwen's chair for the teenage girl to finish her fourth cup of wine. The ship's surgeon had been about to treat Gwen's wounds, whereupon he was stopped by Inaros and several other crewmembers, much to his extreme vexation. They took Gwen to the upper gun deck, which had been cleaned of blood, debris, and bodily waste during the late afternoon hours, allowing the deck to be transformed once more into a makeshift dining hall.

Gwen was told that Nikomedes would find some way to make the treatment of her wounds painful, and that she should probably have a drink before the ship's surgeon proceeded. Gwen, tired and still slightly anxious from the earlier battle, had seized the opportunity to get alcohol, accompanying Inaros and his buddies back to the dining area on the upper gun deck.

Though he had grumbled and muttered a fair amount about it, eventually Nikomedes relented and began to treat the lightly wounded on the upper gun deck, right where the festivities were—practicing his medicine on an isolated table, far removed from the food and drink, of course. A disinfecting soak here, a bandage there, an occasional removal of small bits of debris from the skin; nothing too serious. Those with more serious wounds were still in the infirmary. As for Gwen, one of the most seriously-wounded people in the dining area, she'd gratefully downed the cup of wine Inaros had given her. Then one cup turned into two, and then three…

And now, Gwen tipped her head back and drained her fourth cup, shaking her head several times, breathing in sharply and letting out a raspy grunt in response to the almost comforting burn that spilled down her throat. It was good that this wine existed only in another dimension—if the consorts' black wine had existed on Earth, it would probably have killed a fair amount of people. It tasted very fruity, and one had to chug this wine in order for it to put a proper burn down the throat; people would probably get carried away, drinking this wonderful intoxicating fruit juice until they keeled over from alcohol poisoning.

And upon finishing her fourth cup of wine, Gwen took several deep breaths and prepared herself for whatever was to come, grateful for the pain-deadening effect that the wine seemed to have on her. "Alright, doc, do your worst!" she called over to the ship's surgeon, who was still fussing over his table.

Nikomedes muttered something under his breath as he prepared his table for Gwen. "Aristaios! Thrasyllus! Move the Witch to my table, if you please." The ship's surgeon gave the order to two of the burliest corsairs on the deck. The two heavily-muscled turtle-consorts both grunted to each other and promptly put down their cups, ambled over to the box Gwen was sitting on. They bent down on either side of the box and lifted it off the ground, carried the teenage girl over to the surgeon's table, far removed from the food and drink.

The corsairs shouted encouragements at her as she was taken away to Nikomedes's table. Someone even warned her against punching the surgeon in the face, which struck Gwen as a downright _ridiculous_ thing to do. Gwen climbed onto the surgeon's table, letting her feet dangle off the side. The first thing Nikomedes told her to do, even before he actually started to examine the wounds, was to remove her shirt. At first, Gwen was hesitant, but then she remembered that she was among turtle people; they would not care what she looked like underneath her clothes. That, and she was also drunk, which always made undressing easy.

Gwen removed her shirt when prompted by the ship's surgeon. While it would have been chilly on the top deck, being only in her underwear, the upper gun deck was able to retain heat and keep warm. Having multiple-hundred rowdy, drunken consorts in the same space likely generated a lot of heat, too. As she handed her shirt over to Nikomedes, Gwen was showered by a cacophony of whistling, catcalls, and more encouragements to continue undressing. Well, so much for turtles not caring about the human female figure...

Nikomedes continued to mutter darkly under his breath as Gwen started to strike poses for her crowd of consort admirers. The ship's surgeon ignored this and took Gwen's shirt, laid it out flat on top of the table. He then made a face, clicked his tongue several times as he studied the article of clothing.

"Problem?" Gwen asked Nikomedes, finally tuning back into the world of the grumpy ship's surgeon, taking a moment to adjust herself.

"Yes, 'problem' is one word for it," Nikomedes grunted, retrieving a tool from his bag that almost resembled needle-nosed pliers, albeit with the 'needle-nose' part being much longer and thinner than one's usual pair of pliers. They were a type of _forceps,_ Gwen believed the name was. "Look at the right shoulder of your shirt, down there. What do you see?"

Gwen glanced down at her shirt, observed the hole where the wood splinter had torn through. There was nothing special about it, and Gwen could not figure out what the ship's surgeon was getting at. "There's just a hole. I have a wood splinter lodged in my shoulder, in case you forgot."

"Exactly right," the ship's surgeon let out a quiet sigh, obviously annoyed that Gwen was not able to see the problem. "There's a hole in your shirt; a hole that does not _close_. That means there's a wee bit of fabric that's missing somewhere. And I'll give you three guesses where that missing fabric is."

"Well, I guess… I'll have to guess…" Gwen pretended to think about it, pretended to really mull it over for a few seconds, before the light bulb went off over her head. "In my shoulder! I'mma guess _in my shoulder_. An' that's my final answer!"

It would have been a feat for Nikomedes to look anymore annoyed and irritated than he did right now, but the surgeon kept his temper and impatience in check. "That is the correct answer. Congratulations. Now it is time for your grand prize—the _removal_ of said fabric, along with the wood splinter, to be carried out immediately. Lie down, would you? And don't squirm."

The ship's surgeon gingerly removed the four-inch wood splinter from Gwen's shoulder with his bare fingers, not needing any of his tools to do the job. That was the easy part. Now, blood started to flow from the opened wound. Acting fast, the ship's surgeon pulled a tin of some sort of white powder from his bag, along with a jar of yellow ointment and a long, thin, round-headed silver probing rod. First, Nikomedes sprinkled some of the powder over the shoulder wound—the powder acted as a coagulant, causing the blood to clot and greatly reducing the bleeding.

With the bleeding no longer a problem for the moment, Nikomedes proceeded. He took the silver probe and dipped the rounded head into the jar of yellow ointment. "This will hurt," the ship's surgeon warned Gwen in an unapologetic tone, barely giving her enough time to brace herself. He then eased the rounded head of the silver probe into the shoulder wound, spinning it around on its axis, disinfecting the wound with the ointment, as well as administering a local anesthesia that would help dull the pain.

Even though the black wine in her system did much to deaden pain, Gwen still nearly let out a violent stream of profanity when the silver tool entered her shoulder. With drunkenness also came a lack of inhibitions, and so Gwen found that she also had to, on occasion, stop herself from actually balling up her fists and clocking the surgeon in the face. Maybe that consort who'd warned her not to punch Nikomedes had not been joking...

Nikomedes would likely find a way to leave one of his instruments inside of Gwen if she ever struck him like that. Best not to find out what he would _actually_ do…

After what felt like ten minutes of throbbing agony from the spinning silver ball inside Gwen's shoulder, the surgeon finally withdrew the probe. He then grabbed his needle-nosed forceps instrument, giving them a few experimental snicks, almost like he was testing out a new pair of scissors. He then peered into the shoulder wound, ever so gently slipping the needle-nosed clamps into the hole.

The pain was electrifying even while she was drunk, cutting straight through to Gwen's teeth and skull. She gasped, taking in a deep breath, trying her best not to move while the surgeon was holding a metal object partially inside her. Then, blissfully, the pain subsided as the consort surgeon withdrew the instrument. Clamped within the needle-nosed forceps was a much smaller splinter of wood—a piece of the larger fragment, no doubt, broken off inside Gwen's shoulder after impact.

There were four additional minuscule splinters of wood that had to be removed, one at a time, from the shoulder wound. _Then,_ only after all the wood fragments had been extracted, Nikomedes could go after the piece of fabric from her shirt. The pain felt both worse and more familiar with each new attempt; a strange mix of sensations… Gwen's eyes were tearing up by the time the final splinter was removed.

Nikomedes took a swig of something strong-smelling from a flash, wiped his mouth with a rag, and went in one last time with the needle-nosed clamps. Gwen bit down on the insides of her cheeks—she could still feel every little movement within her shoulder wound made by the clamps as they were eased inward, but the pain was growing further away. Probably a mix of the local anesthetic kicking in and the effects of the fourth cup of wine. It still hurt like a motherfucker, but Gwen knew that it would be a hundred times worse if she was completely sober.

And then the pain receded as the ship's surgeon slowly, gently pulled his forceps from the shoulder wound, a blood-saturated piece of fabric in the clamps' grip. "And here we are…" the ship's surgeon murmured, dropping the piece of fabric onto the table, making sure it fit perfectly into the hole in Gwen's shirt, which it did, leaving no fabric unaccounted for. "Would've festered if we left it in there. You're bloody welcome."

"So, are we done, then?" Gwen asked, sitting up from the table.

Nikomedes gave an almost sadistic chuckle, produced a length of thread and a small needle from his bag, holding them up for Gwen to see. "Yes. After I sew up the laceration on your thigh."

Gwen stared dumbly at the needle and thread, her mouth forming a silent 'oh'.

* * *

><p>If Gino Caiazzo were to suddenly stumble across a genie lamp and was offered three wishes by its fantastical inhabitant, his first wish would have been for pyrokinesis, because he thought being able to control fire was some pretty cool shit. His second wish would have been for a bar tap of Starbucks Frappuccino—the kind that they sold in those small glass bottles—that never ran dry, and could switch between flavors when he asked it to. The third wish would normally have been for endless summer, but right now… <em>Now,<em> his third wish would have been for the ability to turn into air, because at the moment he wanted nothing more than to dissipate into nothingness and fly off with the wind.

To his right, Tami Abramov walked silently. That was what got under Gino's skin the most—the silence. It was almost infectious. The planet was silent, the wind was silent; even the teenagers' footfalls were silent, as if the Land of Souls and Silence actually fed on the noise. Gino did not like total silence; he needed some sort of ambiance, even if it was only the chirping of a distant bird, or the whispering sigh of a breeze. When there was total silence, the only thing Gino could listen to were his own thoughts.

But Tami's silence was what made Gino uneasy. She was the sort of person who always spoke her mind, had no qualms about telling people exactly what she thought of them. But here she was, now, silent as the rest of this crystal-tree-studded desert. It was almost maddening.

The two teenagers had been wandering through the desert for two days, surviving off of the various drinks and snacks that Gino had stored away in his sylladex. After reaching the Dersite mining settlement and liberating a critically wounded Tami from the miners, Gino had gone as far into the desert as he could to put distance between them and any possible pursuit, if the miners even attempted one.

Then Tami's gunshot wound had somehow healed miraculously by itself, by some strange cyan energy… Gino still replayed that moment over and over in his head. It was impossible. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, had he not seen the cyan light that gathered over and healed Tami's wound... It had looked exactly what magic should look like, but magic didn't exist! Right?

Now, Gino was not so sure.

At first, Gino had thought Tami was leading the way. If she actually was, though, it did not seem to matter, because they had not changed direction once. They walked and walked, and then they walked some more. And all they got for their efforts were more dunes of white sand, more tree-like formations of glowing crystal.

_This desert can't go on forever_, Gino started to think to himself, turning to self-reassurance. _It's gotta end sooner or later… I mean, what's the point of having a fuckin' planet that's all desert? C'mon, that'd be so gay…_

Then Gino would get tired of reassuring himself that the desert would eventually end, after it clearly had no intentions of doing so no matter how long he and Tami walked. But when he stopped thinking so loudly, he would then remember how quiet it was all around him, wonder why Tami was being so silent, start wishing that she'd start yelling insults like she always used to…and then he'd be back to thinking loud thoughts.

This worked for a time, but eventually Gino would then grow tired of repeating that same overall _cycle_. Everything was boiling down to endless repetition, and it was driving him crazy. No, it was time to make some noise. Gino had the ability to end the silence that was causing him so much discomfort, and now he was not afraid to use it, even if it meant pissing Tami off. Honestly, when was Tami Abramov _not_ pissed about something? At least having an angered Tami would give Gino something to listen to.

Gino resolved to speak to Tami sometime in the late morning. He did not actually do so until after nightfall, when the two teenagers stopped within the cleft between two particularly large sand dunes. The sand dunes were large enough to be dotted with several _groves_ of the glowing trees of bluish-white crystal—when they could walk no further, it was within one of these groves that Gino and Tami chose to sleep for the rest of the night; their aching, protesting legs threatening to rebel by giving out if they were not given a sorely-needed break.

Gino, waiting for the right moment to break the oppressive silence, kept glancing somewhat nervously at Tami as he sat down into the sand, resting back against one of the crystal trees, letting out a low moan of relief as he stretched his legs out in front of him. Tami was doing the same under an adjacent tree. After getting situated, she retrieved a book from her sylladex—_Artemis Fowl,_ by Eoin Colfer—and relaxed, allowing herself a quiet yawn, reading quietly by the crystal tree's light.

The sand dunes still stretched out in every direction, as far as the eye could see. In the morning, the dunes would take on a rich, golden-white hue, the monotony of the endless sand disrupted by the long shadows. During the day, the long shadows went away and the sand became a bright, almost blinding white; the sky a pale green with occasional shimmers of multicolored light energy rippling about the orange-hued clouds. When Skaia set in the west, the sky would shine a vibrant emerald green, shot through in the west with pulsating patterns of yellow and orange light, which soon faded to red and purple like flames into embers, and finally to darkness.

Then night would come, almost transforming the planet into a different world. Right now, the sky was black; vast and starless. The aurora-like ripples of energy in the sky were much more prominent—each one shining with a different mix of lights, colors, and patterns before they faded away. The faintest ones only shone for a matter of seconds, but some of the brighter ones could last for minutes.

The desert also shone in a new light. The luminescence of the crystal trees that sprouted from the dunes cast a soft, bluish-white illumination across the desert, causing the sand dunes to glow with a soft, pale radiance. It was completely different from the blaring, eye-watering white glare of the sands during the day. The gentle, pale gleam of the nighttime sands was much more like moonlight—bright enough to make everything clearly visible, but not nearly bright enough to overcome the shadows of the night. It was still quite dark.

Gino preferred the desert at night. It felt disorienting to walk through a desert in the middle of a bright, hot day and not have any kind of sounds to fill the emptiness. At night, though… The desert's silence was much more comfortable after nightfall, when Gino wasn't sweating from the daytime heat, constantly squinting from the glare of the sands. Now, the pale sands felt calm, at peace. As if it were quietly releasing a breath while resting.

But, even then, the comforting quiescence of the desert at night quickly wore thin for Gino, who had now reached a breaking point, of sorts. He had to speak, had to fill that silence. And he had to do it _now_.

"So, uh…" Gino had to clear his throat. He had not spoken in a long while, and his voice was raspy at first from disuse. "You gonna tell me how, uh… You know… The whole bullet-hole-healing-itself thing? All that blue light magic you did? What was up with that?"

"Oh, he finally speaks!" Tami grunted from behind _Artemis Fowl_. Gino could not see Tami's eyes through her book, but he instinctively knew that she was rolling them. She was rolling them hardcore. "You weren't saying much there. Pretty strange for you."

Gino let out a quiet sigh, already having second thoughts, already wondering if the silence had actually been quite so bad. "Never mind…"

"What's the matter, you don't like the quiet?" Tami continued to speak, lowering her book a fraction, just enough for her to peek over the top, brushing aside Gino's attempt to bring the conversation to a premature end. "Understandable, I guess. No more crowds of bimbos constantly flirting with you, and such. Silence must feel terribly empty."

"I said _never mind,_" Gino muttered, shrugging off Tami's words. "And no, I don't like the fuckin' quiet. And I also know for a fact that _you_ can't be enjoying it, either. C'mon, there ain't a minute that goes by when I don't see you up to your fuckin' eyebrows in music."

_Artemis Fowl_ came down all the way, its golden cover and back no longer obscuring Tami's face. A corner of Tami's mouth curved upwards in a wry grin as she made eye contact. "Yeah, I left my ukulele back in my house. It's been hell, actually. But it still beats having a conversation with you."

"Really? That so?" Irritation started creeping into Gino's voice as Tami's sharp verbal needling began to get under his skin. "Because it sounds like you're having a conversation with me right now."

Tami opened her mouth, then promptly closed it, blinked once, tapping her book thoughtfully against her chin, looking like she was really thinking through all of the ramifications of Gino's claim. Then, after a quick shrug, she gave her answer. "You're absolutely right!" she proclaimed in agreement, much to Gino's initial surprise. "My mistake." And with that, Tami closed her mouth and returned to _Artemis Fowl_. The book went back up. She might as well have closed a door in Gino's face.

Gino tried to enjoy the newly-returned silence. He tried, he _really_ tried…but now that he'd just started to converse with another person, even if that person was Tami Abramov… There was no way he could stay silent. It was simply no longer an option. He _really_ hated the silence. Well, either that, or else he was simply a glutton for punishment who was feeling especially masochistic tonight.

"Oh, c'mon, Tam, don't be a bitch!" Gino exclaimed. There was no response. He glanced over at Tami, saw only the cover of _Artemis Fowl_ instead of her face. Tami made no movements as she read the story of the book's eponymous adolescent anti-hero, clearly more interested in whether or not Artemis Fowl would outsmart the fairies and keep their gold than she was in Gino's attempts to get her attention. But that did not stop Gino from trying again. "Tam. Tami. _Tam!_ Jesus Christ… Look, will you start talking again if I punch myself in the dick? Is that what you wanna see? You wanna see me punch myself in the dick?"

Tami reached up and scratched an itch that sprang up on her ear, around where her industrial bar was. Her book did not lower, though, nor did she make any other kind of movement.

"Seriously? Nothing? Okay…okay, how about if I… Okay, if you start talking again, I'll eat a handful of sand. A handful. Seriously. I'll do it. Watch me do it. I'm doing it!" Gino tried again, cupping his hands and scooping up some sand, even going so far as to tentatively lick the topmost granules with the tip of his tongue. When he glanced back over at Tami and saw that his efforts were still in vain, he muttered under his breath, tossed the sand away. "Fine, just be a fuckin' mute, then…" he grumbled, settling back against his tree. "Dunno why you're still bein' a dick to me…"

Finally, without even intending to do so, Gino was able to get Tami to speak again. "How am I being a dick to you?" she asked from behind her book, not yet invested enough in the conversation to establish eye contact.

"Because you're fuckin' ignorin' me, that's why," Gino replied. Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. When Tami asked harmless-sounding questions, they usually led to more tongue-lashing. And Gino had just given her all the ammunition she needed.

"_Mmm_…" the green-eyed girl hummed. She still had _Artemis Fowl_ obscuring her expression, but Gino could almost see the cold smile slowly spreading across her lower face. "So when I'm speaking to you, I'm being a bitch. When I'm _not_ speaking to you, I'm being a dick. Quite the master labeler you're becoming! Really, keep it up."

"Okay, now you're bein' a dick, and you _know_ it," Gino shot back, against his better judgment. "C'mon, Tam, it's been two fuckin' years—when're you gonna stop hating on me for sophomore year?"

This time, Tami's response was a brief spurt of genuine laughter, leaving Gino puzzled. After her chuckling died down, she finally lowered her book, closed it, stowed it back into her sylladex before starting to answer Gino's question.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Tami commenced her barrage with a questioning barb. "You really don't get it. You think I hate your guts. You think I get myself off on fantasizing about you dying in painful ways—and it's fucking hilarious to me, because you couldn't be any more wrong! I don't hate you, Gino. I don't like you, I don't hate you. Nothing there, get the picture? I don't feel anything towards you. _I do not care about you_." Tami said that last declaration extra slow, emphasizing each syllable, trying to pound the message home. She looked at Gino, now, let out another sigh, the venom in her voice now gone, replaced with an indifferent nonchalance. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you? First, you'd need to realize that the universe doesn't revolve around you. And you clearly haven't reached that level of enlightenment, yet."

In a way, Gino was getting what he wanted. All those times he wished Tami would yell and scream at him instead of giving him the silent treatment and veiling whatever her feelings were…now his wish was being fulfilled. Tami was not yelling, though. She spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice—and that was what really annoyed Gino, Tami making all these accusations so nonchalantly.

Gino immediately started to protest, but Tami was not finished. She turned her attention away from Gino, now gazing upwards at the night sky, watching the irregular aurorae that shimmered across dark expanse. "I'd be willing to wager money that you've been nervous this whole time 'cuz...well, you know. You thought I was gonna tear you a new asshole for the shit you pulled sophomore year. Don't even bother denying it—your muscle tension told me all I needed to know. And when I _didn't_ do what you expected, when I _didn't_ tear you a new asshole, you just jumped straight to the conclusion that, obviously, I was keeping quiet just to fuck with you. Sensing a pattern here? It's all you, you, _you_. Everything has to do with _you_. Like you just need to have your fingers in everyone else's minds."

Gino was still glad that it was no longer silent, but his great discomfort from the lack of noise earlier had now shifted to the fact that Tami was so effortlessly dominating him in this conversation. There were only a bare handful of people Gino knew who were ever really able to effectively speak out against him, but Tami was the _only_ person who was able to go a step farther and actually wrest _away_ control of the conversation. It was flummoxing to Gino, his confusion growing every time he tried and failed to retake the conversation. Even when she wasn't yelling, Tami had the ability to make anyone almost feel like they were being dispassionately scrutinized under a giant microscope.

In Gino's case, he felt like—in addition to being studied under Tami's microscope—he was also being neatly dissected, picked apart to expose the less-than-pleasant insides. Like any sane person, Gino did not like feeling like he was being dissected. But he could not get out from under the microscope; every time he tried to protest, to speak, Tami would simply shut him down with a single look. Once she was on a roll, there wasn't much that could stop her.

"But the thing is…" Tami changed tack, her tone softening a bit as she started to drive the point home. "The thing is that…everything I just said? I don't think you even realize you're doing it. You don't wake up every morning, open up your dresser full of personality flaws, and just _choose_ to be massively egocentric. It's who you are, part of your essence. You can't grasp how much more involved in yourself you are than most other people because it's just your natural state of being. It's the baseline from which you express yourself—everything you do is rooted in it."

Gino was silent, now. He would not consciously admit to himself that he was taking anything Tami said seriously, but he _was_ actually listening, now. Even though Gino himself was unaware of the fact, his subconscious usually knew what to do more than Gino's conscious mind, and it nudged him, now, subtly getting him to start listening to the words.

Perhaps he had also been made more receptive by Tami's change of tone. She sounded like, after letting Gino have it and giving him a concentrated blast of sharp, cold truths…she now seemed to be relenting, maybe even trying to _empathize_ a little bit. Gino started to relax, sensing that the end was in sight.

"It's who you are. You don't act like a dick—you _are_ a dick," Tami continued.

_Ah… Back to being mean, then,_ Gino sighed to himself in his head. He suppressed the urge to chuckle at himself. He'd actually thought Tami was starting to try a different approach, only for her to simply take her current approach to a whole new level.

And yet, still Gino listened, his conscious mind no longer even pretending to ignore Tami's words.

"You can't help it. It's just normal for you," Tami pressed on, staring back at the brilliant, rippling aurorae in the sky, barely blinking. "And I know you won't believe me, but I'm not judging you, either. Judging everyone else is one of those quintessential parts of the grade school experience—we've all done it, but some of us—including myself—were actually able to _learn_ from it. In a world where the truth about themselves is the last thing most people want to hear, though… Someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind when they need to usually ends up being a social outcast, and I'm no exception. But I only tell the truth; the hard, non-sugarcoated, usually-unpleasant truth. Yeah, I know I sound like a huge cunt when I tell people the truth—and I'll admit, I tend to _yell_ the truth at people a lot when they frustrate me—but I'm not doing it because I want to hurt their feelings. I do it because I want them to _learn,_ even if I already know that they probably never will."

Now, Gino had no idea where this one-sided rollercoaster of a conversation was going to take him. This was the first time Tami had ever given him a glimpse into the workings of her mind. He wasn't sure if he was going to like where she was going with it. Fortunately, however, she seemed to be finished. At least, for the moment.

"So yeah, there you go. Sorry for stomping you into the ground, I guess?" Tami gave a shrug. "You asked for the truth, so I gave you the truth."

Now, Gino had more than enough possible things to say in reply, but he decided to go with one of the less profane options. "Shit, I didn't expect a fuckin' psychological scouring! God damn, I might've kept my mouth shut if I'd known you had somethin' like _that_ bottled up inside."

"I've kept those opinions to myself, but they definitely weren't 'bottled up'," Tami corrected the other teen. "That implies I wanted to share them with everyone…when really they were just normal, personal opinions that I've had for a while, now. Personal opinions that you happened to ask for."

Gino still wasn't convinced. "I didn't ask for a verbal tsunami of everything you thought was wrong with my goddamn psyche—I just wanted to know why you were bein' dickish! The whole 'lyin'-on-Freud's-couch' act was so un-fuckin'-necessary!"

"No, you _did_ ask for my opinion!" Tami snapped, her trademark impatience rising back to the surface. _Good,_ Gino felt a small stab of satisfaction. _At least I'm still getting on her nerves_. Tami took a deep breath, letting some of the color in her cheeks subside for continuing. "Your specific words were why I was still…ahem… _Hatin' on you for sophomore year?_" Tami put on an overblown approximation of Gino's thick, Brooklyn-imbued tones that was actually more accurate than the other teen cared to admit. "You were asking for an answer that did not exist because the question itself was flawed—I was not _hatin' on you for sophomore-_"

"You don't need to do the voice…" Gino muttered.

"_-year_." Tami continued to talk right over Gino, ignoring his interjection. It was also quite possible that she hadn't even heard him speak. "What you _actually _wanted to know was why I wasn't going out of my way to talk to you about sophomore year, whether to yell at you or otherwise. And the answer to that question is that I simply dislike talking to you. I dislike talking to you because the topic of any conversation we have will always inevitably end up centering on _you_."

"That's not true-" Gino started to protest, but he was shut down yet again by Tami's glare. _Oh, great... Time for round two..._

"I gave you that 'psychological scouring', as you called it, because I knew you would disagree with my answer…just like you did right now," Tami pointed out. "And so, because you're obviously blind to the truth when it applies to your shortcomings, I talked straight to you and told you flat-out what was wrong with you. Whether you learn from it, though, or whether you decide to ignore it…that's your choice. And I think you've already made it."

Now, Gino felt a spurt of anger, indignation. No, he did not like what Tami was saying, but it went a bit deeper than that. Whether or not she was actually right…who did Tami think she was? What made her so much wiser than everyone else that she felt she could sum up an entire person just by prattling off a list of their flaws, without bothering to try and find out why they were there in the first place? Did she possess none of her own?

"You know what, Tam? Fuck you," Gino raised his voice, now, retaking his place in the conversation. As he spoke out, Gino rose to his feet and stepped over to Tami, planting himself directly in front of her, forcing her to hold eye contact. "You think you're any better than me? You think you're so fuckin' _enlightened,_ sittin' up there on your high horse, judgin' all the rest of us? Sittin' in your little corners, pluckin' away at your ukulele, wonderin' why no one else can act as jaded and cynical as you, wonderin' why all the stupid happy people can't just frown and scowl every once in a while? Yeah, I guess I got my issues, but you're fuckin' deludin' yourself if you think you're lily-white pure."

Tami started looking hard at Gino, now, her impatience beginning to simmer again. "Yeah, I'm a cynic. Yeah, I expect the worst in people so that, when they only act _badly,_ I'm not too disappointed. Yeah, I have emotional issues. Who doesn't? But the difference between me and you is that at least I'm _aware_ of what's wrong with me, and I don't deny it."

"Wait, wait, hold the phone!" Gino took a small step forward, moving even closer to Tami, looking almost straight down at her as he spoke. "That makes you _worse_ than me, if anything! If you've already been aware of your flaws, then what have you done to fix them? You haven't really changed, all that much! You're still a closed book, Tam. All that brilliance you have, locked away up there in your head, all that talent? Yeah, I fuckin' know it's up there. And it don't mean _shit_ if you can't learn to connect with other people."

"I tried that already. I went out with _you_ for half a year. Didn't work so well," Tami reminded Gino, her emerald-green eyes drilling through the other teen's. Gino, who was taller than Tami to begin with, was towering over her…but she was not fazed in the slightest, didn't move from her reasonably comfortable spot against the tree. She did not need to be standing up to match someone else's force of personality. Normally she was able to send most people away with their tails tucked between their legs without even having to _look_ at them.

Gino was not backing down, however. Not this time. "_Ooh,_ you went out with _one_ guy who turned out to be a dick. Boo-fuckin'-hoo, ya want a fuckin' box of tissues to sob all your fuckin' feels into? Naw, you tried to connect with someone, and you got burned—which sucks, which really sucks, but that's just the way it is. But then you _stopped_ tryin' after that. You _chose_ to stay in whatever jaded, emotional, misanthropic, low self-esteemed deadlock you're stuck in right now. And you ignore it by spendin' all your time bitchin' about the flaws of _other_ people, when really you're just—_AUGH!_"

A very rare occurrence was happening; Tami was actually beginning to lose footing in a conversation. She'd allowed Gino to goad her into an argument, and now he had the upper hand, even if he did not fully realize it, and was starting to move into a position where _he_ would be lecturing _her_. This infuriated Tami, being outsmarted in such a way. Being outsmarted by _him,_ of all assholes...

Unfortunately, whatever else Gino had to say would remain a mystery, for he suddenly broke off midsentence, letting out an agonized scream as a sharp, white-hot fire tore through his upper back. He crumpled forward, almost landing face-first into Tami's lap—he collapsed over her legs instead, falling facedown into the sand, a knife handle jutting out from under his right shoulder blade, his shirt glistening as it was quickly saturated with blood.

Tami watched Gino fall almost in slow motion, staring uncomprehendingly as her ex-boyfriend landed partially on top of her legs. The hesitation cost her—she had barely begun to scramble away from Gino's body when a second knife hissed out of the darkness, catching her in her left side. Had she not moved, the knife would have pierced a lung, if not her pancreas or heart. Luckily, the razor-sharp was only able to swipe Tami as she yanked her legs free, slicing across the softer areas of flesh in her left side, just above the hip, spinning away into the sand.

Even though the knife had missed its intended mark, the damage was still done. Pain exploded throughout Tami's body, a throbbing core of agony concentrated and centered around the deep laceration in her left side. A wave of adrenaline surged through Tami's circulatory system as she twisted away from Gino's body, moving with what felt like almost superhuman strength.

She mentally accessed her strife specibus; a small, oddly-contoured object appearing in her hand. Tami released a catch on the object, which resulted in its top and bottom segments suddenly unfolding and immediately snapping into the object's true shape; string and all—a compound bow. A quiver full of arrows had appeared on Tami's back, as well—when she finished deploying the collapsible compound bow, she was able to whisk an arrow from the cylindrical container and nock it, drawing gently back on the bowstring.

The whole process of retrieving the compound bow and arrows from her strife specibus took Tami about a full second. After years of spending hours upon hours in the backyard with Tash, her older brother, the routine of retrieving her bow and readying it to fire now came to Tami as naturally as turning off the TV when political ads started to play. Whenever she was able to loose an arrow and hit within the target _before_ her older Bro managed to, Tash would take her out for ice cream—that had actually only happened twice, though Tami was not far from surpassing her brother's skill.

Unfortunately, Tami was now aiming at empty space. She stared hard in the direction the throwing knives had come from, but there was nothing to see. Unless… Tami's forehead furrowed in a frown as she spotted…something… A whisper of movement in the darkness. The light of the crystal tree Tami was taking cover behind, glinting in the shadows that lurked towards the top of the sand dune…glinting…

_Glinting!_

Tami had barely managed to jerk herself back behind the safety of the crystal tree before a third knife speared through the space where her face had just been, glancing off the side of the crystal tree, spinning away into the sand somewhere. Tami swore under her breath, her heart rate beginning to accelerate. She might have remained behind that tree until morning, had she not thought of Gino just then. Gino…hit by a throwing knife, bleeding out into the sand… Tami could hear him moving feebly, making inaudible attempts at speech. He was going to need her help.

If the events of the past few days had given Tami pause, she was now in danger of entering panic mode. She'd just watched someone she intimately knew—had known, rather—get stabbed right in front of her. It did not matter how much she'd been through since her entry into the incipisphere; watching Gino fall like that, with that knife in his back... It had been horrifying. Already she was beginning to feel tears stinging her eyes, beginning to feel regret for her harsh words, earlier, even if she still believed they had been true.

Tami crept around the circumference of the tree, stealing a quick glance in the direction of the attacker. Or, at least, she _attempted_ to—a fourth knife struck the edge of the crystal tree before she could even take a small peek. Whoever the knife-thrower was…one of the Dersite miners, perhaps, still in pursuit of Gino after his liberation of Tami from the mining town… Whoever he was, he definitely knew his way around knives.

"Fuckin' _cunt,_" Tami growled as she snapped her face back to safety, flipping off the throwing knife as it thudded to the sand—she had not even gotten a glimpse of the attacker. The crystal trees pulsed with light, but the constantly-moving light combined with the contours of the sand dunes resulted in ever-shifting patches of shadow out in the empty spaces between trees, making it difficult to see someone who was using the darkness to their advantage. Tami was pinned down with no way of even seeing the general _direction_ of the attacker; and the longer she kept behind cover, the more Gino continued to bleed out.

Resting back against her tree, now, Tami forced herself to breathe deeply. She was not going to help Gino if she had a panic attack, so she decided she'd better get her shit together, right this moment. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused. At first, she was unsuccessful—she could not stop hearing Gino's attempts at movement, could not ignore her pounding heartbeat, the white-hot pain in her left side.

Then it came to her, a single note…clear and pure. The sound, in her mind, was that of a concert violin—the actual note was a G sharp. It held for a long, slow beat, before shifting up to a C natural…holding for another two beats… Then it was up a half-step to C sharp, and right back down to an A natural… Tami heard the notes clearly in her mind, played in the sound of a concert violin at a tempo of _adagio ma non troppo e molto espressivo_—that is to say, 'slowly, but not too slowly' and 'very expressive'.

The next notes flowed seamlessly through Tami's mind, as if the music was playing of its own accord, independent of Tami's thoughts. G sharp, F sharp, A natural, G sharp, F sharp, E natural, F sharp, G sharp… Then, the violin was joined by a second violin and a viola, the melody now gaining strength with this new support. Finally, the cello came in last, completing the string quartet.

Tami recognized the tune as that of the opening to Beethoven's String Quartet No. 14, otherwise known as Opus 131, played in C-sharp minor. It was one of Tami's favorite pieces of classical music—over forty minutes in length—and she loved to play any of the four parts when she found herself alone on a quiet, rainy day, though she favored the violin parts over those of the viola and cello. She let the soothing notes of the work's first movement fill her mind, felt her heart rate dropping back to normal, felt her stinging tears subsiding, her anxiety-driven emotions falling back into a state of focus. The music did not lessen the pain of the laceration in her side, but Tami found that she was able to much more easily shove the throbbing fire into a dark corner of her mind, where it could be drowned out by Beethoven.

Tami opened her eyes and tightened her grip on the compound bow, slowly drawing back the arrow she'd nocked, feeling the tension of the weapon as its ends were stretched. Her leg muscles tensed, now, the ache plaguing them temporarily banished by the adrenaline. Tami knew she'd have to move fast, dodge at least one more throwing knife, and figure out the position of her attacker all at once. This was going to be a challenge, but Tami was never one to shy from challenges.

Taking one last deep breath, Tami broke out into a sprint. She dove into a forward roll as she cleared the tree in an effort to make herself harder to hit, but she did not register the noise of a fifth knife missing her…and it did not hit her, either, because she would have _noticed_ that, obviously…

Tami's confusion lasted for only an instant. As she sprang back up to her feet, she glanced to the left just in time to see another knife flying towards her. Only, this knife was not a throwing knife. This knife was a larger, heavier knife, and it was held in the grip of a dark fist. The owner of that fist was in the middle of a sharp thrust, aiming for Tami's abdomen.

Tami, whose reflexes were already on a hair-trigger setting from all the adrenaline, immediately backpedaled, raising her bow and aiming it at the attacker even as she stepped backwards. She loosed her arrow, attempting to skewer the dark figure at close range. The dark figure twisted out of the way, Tami's arrow thudding uselessly into the sand. The attacker came at Tami again before she could nock a second arrow, this time aiming a slashing strike directly towards her throat. Tami did the only thing she could think of in that split-second, brought up her compound bow in defense, intercepting the slash with the center of the bow, where it was strongest. She then swung the lower end of the bow forward, striking the attacker in the side, causing the dark figure to falter and stumble back.

Tami reached up and back, tearing a second arrow from the quiver and nocking it in a single, fluid motion. Having ignored the pain of getting struck by the end of the compound bow, the dark figure had backed away while Tami reloaded, putting some small distance between them by the time the teenage girl loosed her second arrow.

Anticipating the second shot, the dark figure was once again able to leap to the side, deftly placing itself out of the arrow's path. Tami saw her mistake, realized she'd let the attacker get too far away while opening herself up to attack by loosing her second shot, swiftly reached for a third arrow…only for her arm to fall limp as a second explosion of agony—much worse than the first—nearly paralyzed her, began to rage throughout her body until it'd even reached her extremities. She looked down at her left side, stared blankly at the knife handle that was now protruding from the shoulder, almost next to the collarbone, the blood that was already beginning to flow from the wound, staining her already-tattered shirt and jeans even further.

Tami gasped at the pain, a high-pitched scream forcing its way out of her throat as she found herself unable to process the agony silently. She had been holding the bow with her left arm, dropped it upon being struck in the shoulder by the throwing knife. She desperately tried to lift it again, but her efforts were in vain. Waves of agony were rolling through her body, but her left arm was quite numb, incapable of using the compound bow.

That left only the arrow clutched in Tami's right hand. She flexed her right hand, gripping the arrow similar to a knife, holding it closer to the arrowhead for greater stability and force. The dark figure had rushed Tami as soon as it'd thrown its most recent knife, moving in a successful attempt to close the distance between it and the girl before Tami could catch her breath. It was already bearing down on her once again as she turned to face it.

Tami's reflexes saved her again as she jumped backwards, away from the dark figure's opening thrust, leaping just barely out of range and forcing the attacker to step forward. She feinted a thrust to the dark figure's throat, moving almost too fast for someone to follow, before she shifted her weight to the right and inverted her grip on the arrow, drove it into the attacker's left side, under the arm, right where the heart was…only to blink in surprise when the only thing her arrow ended up piercing was empty air.

The dark figure had already sidestepped Tami's surprise killing strike, seeing it coming even before she'd planned on attempting it. It waited for Tami's failed attack to throw her off-balance, her leftward swing causing her to stumble in the same direction for a moment.

The dark figure seized Tami's right forearm, jerked it forward, brought its elbow smashing down into the inside of Tami's _own_ elbow, causing her arm to fold in on itself, breaking the teenage girl's grip on the arrow. Tami cried out in pain once again, but was quickly silenced when all the air in her lungs was violently forced out—the dark figure, having disarmed the teenage girl, now shoved her backwards, suddenly, causing her to lose her balance. It then finished the job with a powerful kick to the chest, sending Tami crashing down into the sand.

Tami lay there; battered, broken, beaten. Tired… The adrenaline rush had faded. She felt so tired, now… That was probably from blood loss, she reasoned to herself; her thoughts, at least, still functioning somewhat normally. She stared up at the dark figure who now stood over her.

The attacker had harsh white eyes and an angry scowl, displaying sharp teeth when his mouth was open. He wore a black suit and a dark, rumpled fedora…and the rest of him was black, too. A rigid, exoskeleton-like, almost shiny black carapace, instead of flesh… He was a Dersite. No wonder he had been impossible to see in the shadows...

"Kicked my boobs," Tami glared daggers at the Dersite assailant, a deep-set ache now settling down in her chest. "Fuckin' asshole…you don't hit a girl in the boobs…"

The Dersite pressed a foot down on Tami's chest, holding his knife in his left hand—his usual knife, not another throwing knife. "Don't try too hard to talk," the Dersite spoke in a low, slightly raspy voice. "I prefer it when Heroes are silent. Or screaming. And I'm in such a damn generous mood today, I'll even let you pick—though I'd prefer you went with 'screaming'."

And with that, the Dersite reached down and yanked his throwing knife out of Tami's shoulder, grinning as he enjoyed the sickening squelch of the blade as it was withdrawn suddenly from muscle and bone. The teenage girl actually blacked out from the pain for a few seconds when her brain found itself momentarily unable to process the brutal removal of the embedded knife.

Tami found herself incapable of understanding how she felt. Everything that'd happened since her arrival on this planet had been ridiculous, crazy… But now she was in incredible pain, which felt vividly, agonizingly _real_ to her. And all of this was the result of a fight she'd just lost with an assassin who was part of a race of people who resembled living chess pieces. What the fuck?

As she lay there in the sand, fading in and out of lucidity from the pain and blood loss, Tami was feeling a strange mix of the realism brought by the agony of her wounds, and the surrealism brought on by everything else—what had happened, where she was, who she was with, etc. And so, as the Dersite brought his knife plunging down towards Tami's throat, she did not feel fear. Her mind, especially in its clouded, pain-dulled state, could not fully comprehend the reality that she was about to die.

Tami continued to stare up into the sky, curiously noting how oddly long it was taking for the final pain of the killing blow to reach her. Then two things happened that brought her back to a lucid state—first, a sudden heat against her chest; and second, the sounds of a struggle. Blinking several times and lifting her head up from the sand as far as she could, Tami was shocked to see the Dersite locked in an unarmed fight with Gino, who had somehow managed to regain full consciousness and drag himself over, despite having a knife embedded in his back.

Gino had reached Tami just as the Dersite brought his knife down for the killing blow. He'd blocked the Dersite's strike with his bare arms, quickly seized the handle of the knife, tore it from the surprised Dersite's grasp before the assassin could react in kind. Gino's hands were shaking, though, and he was unable to keep holding the knife as a result. The teenage boy kept the Dersite from retrieving the knife, fighting the attacker blow for blow. He retrieved his alchemized powered knuckledusters from his strife specibus and attempted to gain an advantage with them, but he had been weakened too much—he was not able to strike with enough force to cause any real harm.

In short, Gino was living on borrowed time. Most of his strength had been used up in his initial attack on the Dersite, desperately preventing the attacker from murdering his ex-girlfriend. Sure, he and Tami weren't on each other's 'Well Wishes' lists, but that didn't mean…that didn't mean he wanted her to _die_… But now, Gino no longer had the element of surprise, and he was fighting a strong, deadly-skilled opponent who was not currently wounded. Gino was running out of strength fast. Something needed to be done if he was going to survive.

Tami tried to rise from the sand, could not. She bared her teeth in frustration, furious at being useless, unable to get up and help Gino fight off that Dersite asshole… But then she felt the heat against her chest, again, was reminded of what she was wearing around her neck. With a surge of hope, Tami reached under her shirt with her good arm, clasped the bright green and orange pendant that rested on her sternum. She squeezed the pendant tight, closed her eyes, called with every fiber of her being to the one who'd given her that pendant.

It worked. The pendant, even while under Tami's shirt, glowed with a blinding green radiance as a creature made of identically-colored light energy materialized above her. The bottom of the creature's body—where its hind legs should have been—trailed away into an insubstantial, trailing wisp of light. As for the upper portion…

A face that, even when made purely out of emerald green energy, was cute enough to make Tami smile. Two large, innocent eyes, a protruding snout for a nose, small mouth with visible incisor teeth, rounded ears, whiskers, velvety-soft fur… It was her very recently-deceased pet mouse, Amadeus. The classically-named pet mouse had been crushed to death by a falling bookshelf during the apocalyptic meteor storm that had been pounding the area before Tami had managed to get herself, her brother, and her house teleported away to the Land of Souls and Silence.

Before breaking her cruxite artifact to trigger entry, however, Tami—under advice from Cass and Theo—had put the body of Amadeus into her kernelsprite, bringing her pet mouse back to life and even granting him some level of sentience as he now served as her 'spirit guide', of sorts. He'd given her a sprite pendant in case she ever needed to summon him…and she'd completely forgotten until now.

Amadeusprite hovered in midair, his face contorting with extreme concern as he took in the sight of Tami on the ground. "_Bleeding! Bleeding!_" the spritified mouse cried, his voice squeaky and high-pitched like a child's, green sprite energy pulsing from his body in alarm. "Tami bleeding! Can't die! Can't die, Tami, _can't die_-"

"_Amadeus!_" Tami summoned the necessary strength to yell loudly enough to interrupt the panicking sprite. The mouse blinked once, quickly rubbed his nose several time with his front paws, returning to his senses. "Amadeus…" Tami lifted her right hand, her good hand, pointed to where Gino and the Dersite were fighting. "Gino… _Help him_…"

The mouse sprite gave a loud squeak that actually managed to somehow sound halfway fierce, flying off towards the Dersite in a blaze of green light, ready to blast apart the one who'd harmed his master.

Gino now found himself in a deadlock. He had managed to grab the Dersite's left wrist, just as the Dersite had grabbed Gino's own left wrist, leaving the two opponents within a test of brute strength, both fighters trying to break the grip of the other. Gino was in excellent physical shape, so he may have actually won this test of strength under different circumstances.

But sometimes Skaia had other plans. Gino was tiring, sweat pouring down his chest and back, mixing with the blood. He had been walking all day long, and then just now with the knife in his back—he was weary, and he could not keep this up. He tired more and more, until he started to make mistakes. Then, finally, his left foot faltered for a moment, causing him to slide back maybe half an inch.

The Dersite felt the shift and acted fast. Even as Tami's sprite howled towards him, the Dersite suddenly leaped forward, throwing his entire weight into Gino, who had not quite regained his footing. Gino was sent reeling back, only to be yanked back forward as the Dersite pulled him in close, sank his knee into the teenage boy's abdomen, knocking the wind out of Gino and causing him to double over towards his attacker.

The Dersite then grasped the handle of the throwing knife that still protruded from Gino's back. Gino screamed as the knife was torn from his back, starting to straighten up, only to be suddenly silenced when the Dersite thrust the knife down and inwards, driving its blade up through the back of Gino's neck, straight into the teenager's brain.

Tami's mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide as planets. She watched Gino's corpse thud to the sand, the dead teenager's arms and legs flopping, sprawled out at awkward angles. The worst part was the eyes… Gino was not wearing his sunglasses, as it was nighttime, so Tami could see his eyes… Yellow irises, slightly bloodshot, staring…

Staring at…nothing. Blank. Dead.

_Dead_.

The Dersite turned to face his next victim, only to come face-to-face with the angry mouse sprite who was barreling towards him, a crackling aura of sprite energy flaring out around the spirit guide. A small, yet destructive beam of this sprite energy was suddenly fired out of Amadeusprite's clenched right front paw, a bolt of fiery, emerald green light striking the sand where the Dersite had just been standing, melting the very top layer to glass.

The Dersite dodged the sprite's first attack, diving back and away to where his knife had fallen, scooping up his trusty blade. Amadeusprite was already firing a second bolt of sprite energy at the Dersite, however, even before the assassin turned to face him again. The mouse sprite had not been present for the Dersite's attack from the shadows, nor was he burdened with any injuries; proving himself to be a much more capable opponent than either of the two Heroes, at the moment.

Already having lingered in this place far longer than he should have, the Dersite took one last look at the protective, raging sprite…and absconded, turned from Amadeusprite and sprinted away, vanished into the darkness beyond the grove of crystal trees, melted into the shadows.

The attacker now gone, Amadeusprite released whatever excess energy he had gathered to himself, hovering back to where Tami lay, pausing for a brief moment to examine Gino's lifeless body along the way. This time, Amadeusprite had to get _Tami's_ attention—she was still gazing speechlessly at the body of her ex-boyfriend, still unable to comprehend what she'd just witnessed happen.

She'd summoned her sprite to help Gino fight the Dersite off; everything had been going to be alright! What had…how…? Had Tami just been too slow?

"_Tami! Tami!_" Amadeusprite reached down and touched Tami on her good shoulder, giving her a gentle shock of sprite energy, capturing her attention. "You be okay," the spritified mouse reassured his master, nuzzling Tami's brow with the very tip of his nose. "Everything okay."

"What about… Gino, is… Is he…?"

"That body is dead. I saw inside its head," Amadeusprite declared, 'sugarcoating' obviously an as-of-yet unknown concept for the sprite in its newfound sentience. "Not too late to save him."

Tami perked up, hearing that last bit of what her sprite had just said. "Not too late to…? What do you mean, it's not too late? He's already dead… I doubt even whatever healed my gunshot wound could bring him back… And you just told me he was dead-"

"No, no; that _body_ is dead," Amadeusprite corrected his master, floating over Tami's face, looking down at her from behind her head. "Gino human, still alive! Not alive here. Alive on Derse! Dream self awake now!"

Dream self… Tami knew all too well what her dream self was—an alternate version of herself sleeping in a tower on Prospit; when Tami went to sleep, she would wake up on Prospit's moon as her dream self. Adam, Cruz, and Anna likewise had dream selves on the Golden Moon, just like Tami…but the dream selves of Gino, Theo, Gwen, and Cass were not there. Tami supposed it made sense for the other four to dream on Derse—an even split.

A miniscule tendril of hope was rekindled within Tami as she tried to understand what her sprite was telling her. "So he's alive as his dream self on Derse? He's fine? You're _sure?_"

"Alive on Derse," Amadeusprite reiterated. As he spoke, he generated a 'carpet'-like haze of green sprite energy underneath Tami, gently lifting her off the sand and moving her towards Gino's corpse. "Not alive for long. You, save him."

"How can I save him if he's on Derse?"

"His mouth, _your_ mouth…" Amadeusprite touched his front paws together, his ears and whiskers twitching repeatedly. The sprite was clearly struggling with putting all these new concepts into the words of a language he'd only just started to learn a few days ago. "Touch. Touch mouths."

"…_kiss_ him?" Tami suggested, hoping she was wrong.

"A kiss! A kiss!" Amadeus nodded rapidly. "Kiss him! Then everything okay!"

"But you just said he's on _Derse,_" Tami's impatience threatened to surge back. She was in a huge amount of pain from her wounds, barely even able to form comprehensible words and sentences without breaking down into tears, while simultaneously trying to translate the crude, infant sentences that her sprite was speaking in. It was starting to get aggravating. "I don't exactly have a fucking bus pass to go there, right now. I don't even know where it _is-_"

"_No!_ Not Gino human! Gino human on Derse! Gino human, no kiss!" The spritified mouse exclaimed, interrupting Tami once more, some impatience of his own beginning to bubble to the surface. "_Dead_ Gino human. Kiss."

"Dead Gino hu…?" Tami started to echo, only to have the meaning dawn on her when Amadeus lowered her to the sand…right next to Gino's corpse. "No. Uh-uh. _Fuck no_. Not happening."

"_Fast,_ Tami! Must kiss fast!" Amadeusprite urged his master on, gesticulating manically at the corpse. "Gino human dying right now on Derse! No kiss, Gino human die for good! _Kiss fast!_"

Tami looked down at Gino's face. While his body was drenched in blood, at least his face was clean. Mostly. His mouth was open a fraction, and his eyes… Tami's stomach twisted with a sudden fit of nausea, and she very nearly threw up all over Gino's body. She had to look away from his eyes. Then she looked down at his mouth…and had to stare straight up at the sky for a moment to get the image out of her mind, fighting down a fresh wave of vomit.

"_Kiss fast-_"

"Jesus Titty-fucking Christ, _I got the message!_" Tami snapped, her impatience finally boiling over for a hot second. Amadeusprite pulled back a bit, falling silent. Tami took several deep breaths, bracing her stomach, willing all the half-digested muck down there to stay put. Tami looked back down at Gino's blank, empty face, propped herself up on her good elbow…

_This isn't happening,_ Tami declared to herself in her head as she started to lean down towards Gino's mouth. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't… Oh god, fucking shit on dead puppies, I'm_ touching_ him_-

Tami's lips finally brushed against Gino's. She fought the incredibly strong reflex to pull away, moving herself forward just a tiny bit more, closing her eyes and laying a solid kiss down on her ex-boyfriend's dead body. In that moment, Tami did not think she could possibly sink any lower.

The nausea returned once again, and this time it was not going to be denied. After kissing Gino's dead body for a good second or two, Tami pulled away abruptly, started to roll over to her other side, remembered then that she could not use her left arm. The contents of her stomach were already surging their way up her esophagus by the time she managed to shimmy away from Gino's corpse, cascading forth into an unpleasant-smelling, foul-colored puddle that slowly seeped into the sand.

Tami wiped her mouth, hungrily sucking air down her lungs, tried to sit up further…only to collapse onto her hands again, her insides contorting as they expelled another stream of puke…and then a _third_ stream of puke, after the second one was finished. By the time she was done, Tami's abdomen was twitching, and the puddle of vomit was on its way to becoming a lake.

Grimacing in disgust, Tami spat the last vestiges of vomit into the sand, sighing with relief as her stomach finally relented, rolling onto her back. She gazed up into the night sky for a few moments, still heaving for breath.

"Ama…Amadeus…" she tried to say between breaths. She looked over towards her sprite, knowing full well that she was now losing the battle to remain conscious. The spritified mouse heard her, floated over to her, his large green-energy eyes wide with concern. "Sorry…sorry for…for yelling at you," Tami managed to get out. "Please…help me… _Home_…"

As Tami finally lost consciousness, she was dimly aware of being held aloft in midair by a soft, warm grip of green sprite energy, pale sand dunes passing by underneath her like the remnants of a dream.

* * *

><p>Tami opened her eyes, smiled at the warm sunlight that filled her bedroom. She kicked off the sheets and floated gently out of bed, glancing around her room…which she now saw existed only in varying shades of red. And the sunlight was strange, as well…it had a calming, soothing effect on Tami. It was light from Skaia, which seemed to have strange properties of its own.<p>

She was on the Golden Moon of Prospit. Tami was dreaming.

For a moment, Tami was content to bob around her room, basking in the Skaian light…until the memories of how she'd fallen asleep in the Land of Souls and Silence came storming back into her mind—the assassination attempt, Gino's death…and then…what had come _after_.

Tami headed over to her computer, logged into PalHassle, scrolled down her list of pals on the side until she reached Gino's screen name. She hesitated for a minute, wondering if she should even bother trying…but then she knew that if Gino had woken up on Derse, it would be in a dream room just like hers…complete with a computer. She _had_ to know… She _had_ to.

Tami double-clicked Gino's screen name.

* * *

><p><em>-tchaikovskysAccompanist began hassling gentlemanConsigliere-<em>

TA: Gino?  
>TA: U<br>TA: uh  
>TA: U there?<br>TA: Hello?  
>TA: Look, i just watched u die, so fucking reply to this!<br>TA: Gino!  
>TA: Gino, look at ur goddamn computer!<br>TA: GINO  
>GC: mary mother of octopus cum, wat the fuck just happened<br>GC: tam  
>GC: tam did i die<br>GC: im confused  
>GC: am<br>GC: am i dreaming

_-tchaikovskysAccompanist is no longer hassling gentlemanConsigliere-_

* * *

><p>In a flash, Tami was out the window and flying with all possible speed towards Cruz's dream tower, fully intent on smoking herself into oblivion for the night.<p>

Waking self or dream self, Tami Abramov was _done_ with reality for a little while.


	57. V Chapter 57: Rulebreakers

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Rulebreakers

_Why is everything purple?_

That was the first question Gino Caiazzo asked himself as his eyes flew open and he bolted upright in bed. It was actually a very good question to ask, because although his bedroom looked almost perfectly normal…everything was violet. The walls, floor, ceiling, as well as every single object within Gino's bedroom was now a shade of violet. The bed, his sheets, the computer desk and everything on it…his dresser and posters… All varying hues of purple and violet.

Even Gino's _clothes_ were purple. They were pajamas, he realized—warm, soft, fresh-smelling purple pants and a shirt with some weird kind of shoulder pads that gave the pajamas a regal look to them. There was also a lavender crescent moon symbol emblazoned on the chest of his pajama top. _Wait a second_… Gino frowned as he looked down at himself, plucking tentatively at the fabric of his sleeve. Sure, these pajamas were super comfy, and all, but… He'd never owned a pair like them in his life. He didn't think he'd ever even worn a purple article of clothing in his life.

And now, Gino finally noticed the second difference between the room he was in and his actual bedroom—the four windows built into each wall. Gino's actual bedroom didn't have windows in all four walls, due to it being located inside a larger building like a normal bedroom…which, obviously, meant that he was not actually in his bedroom. Where the hell _was_ he?

"Where the hell _am_ I?" Gino murmured to himself, giving voice to his thoughts. "Fuckin' dream, or some shit?"

Gino stepped over to the nearest window, and—wait, no…what…? Gino gave a puzzled stare down towards the floor. Although the floor was several feet below him, Gino's feet were not touching the ground. Equal parts confusion and wonder filled the teenage boy as he realized that he was floating in midair, suddenly and miraculously able to fly. Now this was getting weird. Awesome as fuck...but weird.

Looking back up to the window, Gino willed himself to glide forward, grasping the windowsill with both hands when he got close enough. He let his feet settle back onto the ground, peered out the window to see what kind of view he'd be rewarded with—and it did not disappoint.

His mouth hanging open a fraction in awe, Gino gazed out upon the sprawling city of purple, black, and gray that extended as far as the eye could see in all directions. Gray chimneys, violet-stone clock towers, black high-risers; mansions and castles of purple, violet, and lavender stone—all interlocked and woven together to form the massive, shadowy city below. The streets seemed to be plunged into shadow, and there was a comforting quiescence to the city below; not dissimilar to that of the pale desert on LOSAS, after nightfall.

Though when Gino studied the buildings below more closely, he saw that many of them seemed to be abandoned, and some structures had even completely collapsed. While this might have normally been off-putting to Gino, it was one of the last things on the teenage boy's mind. He'd just found out that he could fly, after all—he was not thinking like he normally did.

The sky, for the most part, was an empty black void. No stars, no suns, no light of any kind. The only thing that broke the monotone blankness of the dark sky was… Gino squinted, trying to get a better look at it. At first, he thought it was a moon, but quickly discarded that idea; it was much too big to be a moon. It looked like the rounded edge of a distant, vast city-planet composed of the same violet and black architecture that made up _this_ city. Only, just by observing the curvature of the other city-planet, Gino could tell that the city-planet he was currently on was much smaller in size.

If anything, the significantly larger city world that lay just beyond the bottom of the horizon was the planet, and _this_ city-planet was its moon. That would actually make a lot more sense, considering-

Gino fell back from the window, his legs giving out and collapsing from under him. One moment he'd been fine, and then the next he felt like someone had just rammed a hot iron spike into his back. The pain was localized to underneath his right shoulder blade, and his purple pajama top began to turn a dark red as blood started to flow.

The teenager lay as still as possible on the floor of his dream room. He had fallen on his back, which kind of sucked for him because all the _pain_ was in his back, but it would only hurt a thousand times more if he attempted to roll over onto his stomach. No, he just needed to bite the bullet on this one.

At first, confusion was the only thing Gino felt, but it only lasted for an instant. With the blinding pain in his back came the first memories of how his waking self had acquired that pain—he remembered fighting one of those Derse guys with a knife literally in his back, and...and then... Nothing, yet. Hopefully the circumstances surrounding his loss of consciousness on LOSAS would come to light in the next few minutes. That had to have been what happened, if what little Gino knew about dream selves was correct. You go to sleep, you wake up as your dream self. Super simple.

But the more Gino remembered, the less at ease he felt. The pain was only growing worse, the blood flow not stopping. Not for the first time, Gino began to suspect that he had not just 'fallen asleep'… He'd heard stories about these 'dream selves' from some of the others who'd woken theirs up—Cruz and Theo, to name two. Adam's dream self was also awake, but Gino hadn't heard any stories from him. He knew Adam would probably rather dip his balls in liquid nitrogen than talk to him—the guy was even worse than Tami when it came to holding grudges. But the point was that, in all Gino had heard about dream selves, nothing had ever been mentioned of waking up and coming down with a sudden, severe case of stab wound in the back…especially when Gino's dream self had never actually been stabbed!

The wounds that had caused him to wake up here were _transferring_ to his dream self, and Gino had no way to stop it.

_I'm dying, _Gino slowly realized, his heart rate beginning to ramp up. He was dying, and he did not know why. After a minute or so of lying there on the ground, doing his best to try and ignore the pain that was piercing his right side, a second pain began to make its existence known. This one started at the back of Gino's neck, and seemed to extend all the way up into his brain—Gino only experienced the pain of this wound for the briefest of instants, but that split-second was nearly enough to make him black out.

Luckily, after that instant, all the pain Gino was feeling suddenly vanished. The teenage boy sat up tentatively, as if hesitant to soil his newfound luck with excessive movement. After slowly standing up without even any minor discomfort, Gino felt around the right side of his back…but the stab wound was no longer there. Even the blood had disappeared, leaving Gino's shirt and carpet as clean as ever. It was as if none of that ever happened at all!

Gino started to push the limits, allowing himself to float up and spin around the center of the room, and then leaping from one window to the next, making sure every trace of that pain was gone for good. As he indulged in his urge to fly around, Gino found that even the trauma of having those wounds suddenly appear on his body was no longer quite so burdening. He found it difficult to worry himself too much over a near-brush with death when there was _flying_ to be had.

Gino started moving towards the nearest window, when his computer screen caught his eye. The PalHassle icon on the desktop was flashing, which meant that someone was trying to contact them. Deciding to check PalHassle out before embarking on some sort of crazy adventure in the city outside, Gino hovered over to the computer desk and settled down, opening the online chat system, scrolling down to see who was trying to message him. It was Tami.

_Good,_ Gino thought, _maybe she's got some answers for me._

He double-clicked on Tami's screen name.

* * *

><p><em>-tchaikovskysAccompanist began hassling gentlemanConsigliere-<em>

TA: Gino?  
>TA: U<br>TA: uh  
>TA: U there?<br>TA: Hello?  
>TA: Look, i just watched u die, so fucking reply to this!<br>TA: Gino!  
>TA: Gino, look at ur goddamn computer!<br>TA: GINO  
>GC: mary mother of octopus cum, wat the fuck just happened<br>GC: tam  
>GC: tam did i die<br>GC: im confused  
>GC: am<br>GC: am i dreaming

_-tchaikovskysAccompanist is no longer hassling gentlemanConsigliere-_

* * *

><p>"Well, so much for that…" Gino muttered, glaring at the short log of messages, glowering even harder at the line of text announcing Tami's virtual departure. That was very unlike her, to simply quit a conversation without any explanation. She was clearly freaked out. And now he had no answers.<p>

Within the next minute, Gino had finally recovered all the memories of what had happened prior to his awakening here. There had been a pain…an sharp, sudden pain in the back of his neck, traveling up into his head…and then the teenage boy was suddenly opening his eyes to his violet not-bedroom.

"_Did I die…?_" Gino murmured to himself. He had no way to find out, with Tami no longer on PalHassle…but he was beginning to fear that he had. That pain that he'd felt in the back of his neck...it could not have been anything good. If he'd been stabbed there, back on LOSAS...

Gino closed out of PalHassle and thought about getting up from the computer desk, staring blankly at the screen for a few moments. He then looked up at the window behind the computer desk, took in the view of the shadowy city below. He reached over and grabbed his iphone...his iphone, which was also purple. Still, it seemed to function just as well as its normal counterpart, if not better, so Gino was willing to overlook its strange coloration.

Regardless of what this place was or how he got here…it would seem that Gino was stuck here, for the time being. He might as well do a little exploring.

Gino moved for the window.

* * *

><p>The runner's name was Burnless.<p>

He had been 'born' in a laboratory within one of the asteroids of the Veil. Like all 'newborn' Dersites, he had gone straight from the gestation tube to the preparation chambers, organized into squads, platoons, given weapons he had been genetically 'programmed' with the knowledge to use, and then subsequently loaded into a transport bound for the Battlefield. The whole birthing process had taken about half an hour.

Burnless's name had been an identification number, back in those days. While many of his fellow newborn comrades met violent ends as they were unloaded from the transports and thrown against Prospitian defenses, Burnless had survived. While others were singled out for their courage, their brutality, their strength, their marksmanship, or their grasp of combat tactics, Burnless had been noted for his agility and speed. It was not long before he found himself working as a runner for the Black King himself.

Though Burnless had been created several millennia ago, he was still considered to be young by carapacian standards. A carapacian's accepted age in society was almost always based on their completion of their military service, their actual 'birthdays' being the day they came home to Derse, after they were discharged. Following this model, Burnless was actually considered to be only one-hundred-eighty-nine years old.

After being discharged and finally allowed to go home to Derse, Burnless was surprised at the chokehold the Black Queen held over the Dersite populace. The Agents kept a watchful eye on the Dersite commoners, and every time someone whispered of anything that sounded like dissent, or of bringing about some kind of change…they would vanish, likely into the Silent Dungeon. Strict curfew was enforced during the dark hours, and Enforcers usually shot first and asked questions later when they caught curfew-breakers.

It was not long before Burnless found himself on the Obsidian Moon, drawn by stories of the uprising that had taken place there over two thousand years ago, organized and led by one whom they called the 'Wrathful Veteran'. As Burnless would find out over the next few years, he would not be able to find the dissenters. The dissenters would find _him_. And they did so after one evening when he quite stupidly voiced his opinions in several of the local speakeasies, his normally-cautious tongue loosened by too much alcohol.

The Enforcers came for him later that night, likely under the orders of the Agents. They did not announce themselves—they simply broke down the door with an enforcement-issue battering ram and stormed the domicile Burnless had taken up residence in. They completely wrecked his home and subsequently torched it.

Luckily for Burnless, he had not been home when this happened. Minutes before his door was broken down, Burnless had been woken by a woman climbing into his bedroom through the window. The woman had bluntly told him to leave everything behind and follow her if he wanted to live. He wisely chose to accompany the female Dersite out his window and across the street through use of a zip line—which had been slightly challenging because he was still slightly drunk from before. He would then learn that she was an operative of the dissension, and the Agents were not the only ones who had heard his words.

After the woman brought Burnless back to the Onyx, the young Dersite met the Wrathful Veteran for the first time and was integrated into the dissenters. Burnless had also worked with the dissenters as a runner, his exceptional speed and agility quickly recognized by his new superiors. In some regards, it was much like a return to the military, back to old habits. But this time, the old habits Burnless returned to felt much more comfortable under this new leadership. He much preferred working under the Wrathful Veteran than he did the Black King—the Black King was a fascinating individual and a brilliant military leader, there was no questioning that…but the Veteran actually seemed to care for those whom he led.

The Wrathful Veteran was no King, and his followers were all the more loyal to him because of it. For the first time, Burnless knew how it felt to be truly willing to walk through fire if his leader ordered him to.

Burnless had been pulling runner duty in the Onyx's radio room, tonight, when the transmission arrived from one of the dissenters' POPs—which stood for 'Priority Observation Post'. The dissenter operative sending the transmission went by the name of Farsight—Burnless recognized the name; Farsight had been a commando sniper during his military days, and he was usually used in reconnaissance missions due to his uncanny eyesight, his intuition, and also due to the fact that his intel was always reliable.

Farsight had a very important message, requested to speak directly to the Wrathful Veteran. After his identity and the importance of his message had been verified through the use of pre-established passcodes, the Watch Officer on duty, who was in command of the radio room, had turned to Burnless, ordered the young Dersite to fetch the Wrathful Veteran.

Heart thumping with excitement, Burnless left his post and headed straight for the stairs. The radio room was located in the basement of a small domicile within the Onyx—that domicile functioned as the dissenters' makeshift command center, from which all movements and activities were coordinated. And located conveniently on the upper floor of the very same domicile were the living quarters of the Wrathful Veteran himself, making it possible for him to be summoned to the radio room on a moment's notice.

Burnless hurried upstairs to the ground floor, emerging into the front hall. Once upon a time, this house had belonged to some high-ranking Agents, and many traces of its past opulence still remained—the exotic rug laid out on the floor of the front hall, the remains of what had once been an ornate mirror frame still hanging on one of the walls, and about a thousand other subtle reminders of the past.

Burnless hurried through the front hall into what used to be the kitchen, and then into the den, climbing the staircase within to the second floor above. The domicile was not a large one. The upper floor in its entirety comprised of a single, curved hallway—three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small, empty room that appeared to have been a closet at some point. One of these bedrooms was currently occupied by the Quartermaster, who was responsible for the logistical side of the Wrathful Veteran's shadow war—keeping the dissenters fed, supplied, and healthy was the Quartermaster's daunting task. The second bedroom was empty, usually used by radio operators who needed to grab quick naps in between stacked watch shifts. But it was the third bedroom, at the far end of the hall, that Burnless was heading for.

This was not the first time Burnless had been sent to retrieve the Wrathful Veteran, but the young Dersite always felt incredibly nervous every time he went. He had a million questions he wanted to ask the leader of the dissension, but he'd never quite managed to work up the courage.

Burnless no longer hesitated. He gave several sharp raps on the door with his knuckles, announcing his presence. A voice spoke from inside, instructing him to enter. Burnless took a deep breath and turned the doorknob, stepping into the room beyond.

The bed was empty, which meant the Wrathful Veteran had not been sleeping. That was good—the Veteran would have been in a irritable mood if he'd been woken in the middle of a dream. The bedroom's lamps were on, shining at a dim brightness, giving the room a relaxed feel. Jazz played from the record player on the nightstand, quietly filled the room with some soothing tenor saxophone and stress-relieving piano riffs.

Against the far wall, just below the open window, was a writing desk. There were a few books on the desk's shelves, as well as an inkpot and quill, and a stack of blank paper. A paper with some illegible writing on it was still lying on the desktop, and several discarded pieces of paper lay on the floor in crumpled balls.

The Wrathful Veteran was sitting in the desk's chair, facing away from the desk. He was not wearing a hat or jacket, which made the jagged scar tissue that marred his face more prominent, without the shadow of a hat's brim to soften it. Off to the side, tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, was something that puzzled Burnless every time he saw it. It comprised entirely of old, rusty tin cans—they had been stacked on top of each other in different arrangements, tin cans of all shapes and sizes, forming crude buildings…which in turn formed a strange, metallic town. Crude 'streets' had been drawn in with chalk, completing the spectacle. Burnless could not help but stare at all the tin cans for a few moments—every time he entered this room, he wondered why the Veteran had all these cans. But he'd never asked.

The Wrathful Veteran looked to be deep in thought, gazing ponderously at his strange assortment of cans, the shadows of the make-believe buildings constantly dancing and shifting in the light of the lamps. The leader of the dissension did not look away from his odd creation even as Burnless walked in and delivered his message.

"You're wanted in the radio room, sir," the young Dersite informed the Wrathful Veteran. "Transmission just came in from one of the POPs. It was Farsight, sir. Said it was urgent, highest priority."

"Thanks for the heads-up." The Wrathful Veteran did not waste a moment, rose from his chair, followed Burnless out into the hall.

This was Burnless's least favorite part of retrieving the Veteran; the walk back down to the radio room. It was a brief walk, but it was quite uncomfortable for him…being alone with the Wrathful Veteran himself, not knowing whether or not he should try and speak, or if he should simply remain silent… Burnless would probably have never gotten the chance to speak to the Veteran, had the leader of the dissension not spoken to _him,_ first.

"Highest priority, you said? Seems you're always fated to be the one on duty when important things happen, Burnless," the Wrathful Veteran commented to the runner, deeply startling the young Dersite by using his name.

Burnless was at a loss for words. The Wrathful Veteran had become something of a legendary figure among the common folk of Derse. _A great warrior from the War of the Nobles,_ they would whisper, _now fighting against oppression from the shadows of the Obsidian Moon_. Many of the things said about the Wrathful Veteran by the Dersite populace were quite exaggerated, obviously, but Burnless would still consider it to be a falsehood to categorize the Veteran as an ordinary man.

The young Dersite had been the one to deliver the most important messages of the past century to the Wrathful Veteran, but he had still not been sure if the Veteran even knew he existed. He was the runner who did his job and delivered messages—no more, no less. He was usually forgotten by most people after he left a room. And here the Wrathful Veteran was, calling Burnless by name…

_You know my name?_ Burnless asked the Veteran in his thoughts, still startled.

"Of course I know your name, Burnless," the Wrathful Veteran chuckled, donning his fedora and straightening the front brim as he followed the young runner into the stairwell that led down to the den. "As I said, you always seem fated to be on duty when important things happen. What do you make of this?"

"I…" Burnless had been startled a second time when the Veteran answered his silent question…until the young Dersite realized that he'd actually spoken aloud. He chastised himself for his lack of control, quickly regaining full control of his faculties. "I don't rightly know, sir. Just luck, I suppose."

"Luck, you say?" the Wrathful Veteran mused, his eyes glinting with distant memories, recalling times when he'd viewed the world in an equally simplistic manner. "And what makes you so lucky?"

"Well, I…" Burnless hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. He glanced back at the Wrathful Veteran as they stepped out into the den, but only received a questioning blink in response. Burnless swallowed, continued walking, allowed his mind to dip back into some of his earlier memories. "I served as one of the Black King's personal runners, you know. It was only my second assignment… The fort I was sent to by the Black King ended up getting firebombed by the Prospitian air force, and I was one of six survivors. And of those six, I was the only one who didn't get burned half to death. I didn't get burned at all."

"And that's how you got your name, I take it." The Wrathful Veteran immediately made the connection. "Lucky, indeed… It sounds like a story I should like to hear sometime. And do not be so dismissive of your 'luck'—there are forces at work which are beyond our ability to understand. I know of a seafaring subculture of turtle consorts on the Land of Shores and Prisms that even manages to exert some limited control over luck…it is real, and it can be a very powerful force."

"If you say so, sir," Burnless's reply was. The young runner entered the front hall and opened the door leading down to the basement, standing aside to let the Wrathful Veteran pass. The Veteran gave him a nod as he stepped onto the top stair. That was when Burnless decided to speak, moving to close the door behind him as he followed the Wrathful Veteran downstairs. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've been wondering for a little while, and I have to ask… What's with all the tin cans in your personal quarters?"

"_Ah_… Can Town…" The Wrathful Veteran hummed with quiet laughter once more, reaching the bottom of the stairs and stepping out into the empty room. "That old thing…a relic from my earliest years after my homecoming, when I worked in one of the Queen's Royal Canneries. I had some silly habits when I was younger, when my views on the world were much more black and white… I would pretend to be the mayor of this town of cans, and I would imagine abolishing Kings and Queens, giving everyone a voice of their own… Silly old habits. I suppose I keep it as a reminder of those old values, so they don't get too distorted over the millennia."

Burnless was silent, striding forward past the Wrathful Veteran and opening the door to the radio room, which was still abuzz with radio traffic. The Wrathful Veteran gave him a quick nod before walking past, entering the room and immediately taking charge. Burnless, playing his part, stood off to the side of the door, ready to run back out again at a moment's notice.

"Is the transmission still open, Ironsides?" the Wrathful Veteran asked the watch officer, gesturing to the primary radio station with his head.

"Transmission's still open." The watch officer gave a nod in reply. "He's listening."

The Wrathful Veteran did not waste a single moment, sitting down at the primary radio station and directly addressing the dissenter on the other end of the cloaked channel. "Okay, Farsight, what do you have for me?"

"_The Prince is awake, boss._"

The Wrathful Veteran's heart skipped a beat. He did not ask Farsight to repeat himself—he'd understood the message quite clearly. While the Agents' surveillance of the four dream towers had grown lax over the millennia, the Wrathful Veteran had set up surveillance of his own. And the dissenters had never stopped watching and waiting. The Sylph had woken first, and the Veteran had been lucky enough to intercept her on the streets before the Enforcers could hunt her down. The Thane had been next, waking up just in time for the riot in Greenflame Plaza. Then the Witch had been woken, but she'd had the good sense not to leave her tower.

The Prince, however… The Wrathful Veteran knew that the Prince would be the first Hero the Black Queen went after. And with the other three Heroes on the moon already having woken up, the Wrathful Veteran was quite certain that the dissenters were not the only ones closely watching the Prince's tower. The Agents had to have resumed their surveillance of the dream towers, especially with the Authority Regulator running the show. During the War of the Nobles, the Veteran had fought alongside the Authority Regulator in the Umbral Commandos—one of the most lethal regiments in the Dersite commandos. The Regulator was nothing if not deadly efficient; he would have certainly reestablished surveillance on the dream towers in order to know when the remaining Heroes woke up. And what the Authority Regulator knew, the Black Queen would find out a second later.

The Veteran would have to move fast.

"I'm on my way," the Wrathful Veteran killed the channel, got up abruptly from the radio station, turned to his staff. "I need to be at the Prince's tower right this second. Where is our nearest pad?"

When there was silence in the room, all the radio operators trying to figure out which of the dissenters' transportalizer pads were located closest to the Prince's dream tower, Burnless was the one who quickly broke it, already knowing the answer. "Nearest pad is the one in the Eastvale ghetto," the runner answered for everyone else. He used the transportalizer pads on a regular basis, quickly memorizing the intricate layout of pirated transportalizer pads the dissenters had hidden throughout the Obsidian Moon, and even on Derse itself in some places.

"No good; Eastvale is at least five minutes away from the Prince's tower," the Wrathful Veteran replied, rejecting Burnless's suggestion.

The young dissenter runner wasn't sure what made him hold his ground. Being able to have a conversation with the Wrathful Veteran, however brief a conversation it was, had filled Burnless with a sort of resolve. He had the skills to prove the Wrathful Veteran wrong, and now he had the confidence to make the Veteran aware of that fact.

The words were spilling out of Burnless's mouth even before they were a blip on his mental filter's radar. "Five minutes? To hell with five minutes; I'll get you to the Prince in less than _two_." Burnless was filled with horror even as he spoke the words…but he did not let it show. He'd committed, now, and there was no unsaying it. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and added a semi-resigned, "_Sir._"

The watch officer was speechless with fury, but the Wrathful Veteran silenced him with a raised hand when he started to shout at the runner. The Veteran turned, shifted his attention back onto Burnless, his large, pearl-white eyes glimmering with amusement. "Long time since I've been spoken to like that…" The Wrathful Veteran's voice hummed with laughter that was simmering just beneath the surface. "Very well, Burnless, get me to the Prince in less than two minutes."

Burnless met the Veteran's gaze with a defiant one of his own, enjoying his newfound resolve. "Less than two minutes," the runner repeated himself, quietly taking a deep breath to keep his adrenaline-spiked heart rate down.

"Less than two minutes." the Wrathful Veteran's grin returned as he stepped away from the primary radio station and made his way towards the door. As he walked, he also produced a pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, glancing at it once as he led the way upstairs and into the front hall. "A warning; I _will_ be timing you. While I respect those who speak their minds plainly, you still should not make boastful claims unless they are true. Take two minutes or longer, and I can promise you double watch shifts for the next month."

No turning back, now. Burnless gave an almost hapless shrug as he stepped outside through the domicile's front door, following the Wrathful Veteran out into the moderately-developed, grassy expanses that made up the core of the Onyx. "Hope you're light on your feet, sir," was all the young Dersite could really say in response.

The two Dersites made their way through the dissenter compound at a firm jog, leaving behind the residential sector and making a beeline straight for the auxiliary supply depot nestled against the northern wall of the Onyx. Located within the auxiliary supply depot was a transportalizer pad called the 'Hub' by the dissenters—it was from the Hub that the dissenters used their network of transportalizer pads to covertly travel to different parts of the Obsidian Moon.

The Hub was a master pad—that is to say, it was a transportalizer pad capable of connecting with any other transportalizer pad, provided the user had the frequency code of the pad they wanted to end up on. Master pads could also be accessed from any other pad, but again; one would need the frequency code to do so, and the dissenters were constantly changing the Hub's frequency to prevent anyone from hacking it.

The Hub would normally require a large power source to function, but the dissenters' Quartermaster had devised a method of powering the master pad by siphoning off excess energy from the Obsidian Moon's power grid. The dissenters had been doing this for over a thousand years, and no one had noticed yet.

There were four armed dissenters standing guard outside the room containing the Hub, though they immediately stepped aside for the Wrathful Veteran. The Hub did not look much different from any other normal transportalizer pad—a bit larger, perhaps, but that was it. Burnless strode ahead of the Veteran, stepped up onto the master pad, over to the control panel. He'd memorized the sequences for each of the dissenters' pirated transportalizer pads over the decades, swiftly keyed in the frequency code for the Eastvale pad.

Burnless's finger stabbed down onto the 'execute command' button.

There was a bright flash of light, accompanied by the strange sensation of being pulled through a vortex. The light vanished, leaving the Wrathful Veteran and Burnless standing on an older, slightly rusty transportalizer pad, tucked away inside a cramped closet that appeared to be under a flight of stairs. Burnless pushed open the closet door, emerging into the front hall of a dusty, abandoned mansion.

"You're on the clock, Burnless," the Wrathful Veteran reminded the runner, ducking out of the closet behind the younger Dersite. "Lead the way."

"This way, sir." Burnless set off at a sprint, bounding up the mansion's central staircase at several steps per stride. The Veteran was startled initially at the speed of the runner, his mouth setting in a hard line as he struggled to keep up with the younger Dersite.

Burnless flew up to the top floor of the abandoned mansion, four stories up, vaulted himself over the banister before he even reached the top of the stairs, plunged into a dark corridor leading deeper into the giant house. The Wrathful Veteran had adjusted his running speed and breathing rate to balance each other, settling into a comfortable rhythm that allowed him to keep up with Burnless.

Just before hitting the end of the dark hallway, Burnless broke off suddenly, flitted through the final door on the left. The remains of what had once been a mid-ranking Agent's vacation quarters lay beyond the door—all of the possessions and intact furniture had been looted a long time ago, when the violence of the dissension's initial uprising prompted the Agents and royalist sympathizers who had dwelled within Eastvale to abandon it, leading to the once-bustling neighborhood's decline into a lawless ghetto.

Burnless stepped over splintered remnants of something that resembled a wardrobe, throwing the curtains from the large window set into the far wall. The window offered a commanding view of the Eastvale ghetto—the mansion, after all, was one of the largest buildings in the area. Most of Eastvale was a labyrinthine sprawl of crumbling domiciles, masking an intricate network of winding, twisting streets, interlocking alleyways, and concealed shortcuts.

And above all of it, less than a mile away, an enormous tower of violet stone, capped with a spherical chamber at the very top. It was the dream tower of the Prince of Mind. The Wrathful Veteran wanted to gaze up at the tower, wanted to look closely, see if he could glimpse the Hero inside, but there was no time. Burnless had climbed up onto the windowsill, gesturing for the Veteran to follow.

"Stealth-purposed zip line," Burnless said to the Veteran, shrugging off his coat and slinging it over a strong line of nylon-like rope that the Veteran only seemed to be able to see when it moved…and even then, only when he _looked_ for it. Burnless gripped both ends of his jacket tight, leaped off the windowsill, was whisked away by gravity, plunging off into the darkness towards the zip line's bottom anchor point in the near-ish distance.

Hot on Burnless's heels, the Wrathful Veteran took off his own suit jacket and threw it over the zip line. The Veteran noticed that the rope itself glimmered faintly, and he gave a quiet hum as he understood how it worked. Stealth filaments woven into the rope, derived from an underwater species of light-bending kelp—native to the vast, emerald oceans of the Land of Shores and Prisms. The only way someone would find this zip line was if they already knew where it was.

The Wrathful Veteran flew down the zip line, his stomach writhing with butterflies as he shot across the breadth of two city blocks. The zip line was anchored to the top of a burnt-out shell of a one-story building, where Burnless was waiting. Homeless Dersites and other less-than-friendly inhabitants of Eastvale would commonly occupy abandoned buildings like these, but this one seemed to be empty.

Burnless was already moving on by the time the Wrathful Veteran reached the rooftop, forcing the Veteran to land at a running start, following Burnless as the runner hopped down through a hole that had been burned through the roof, landing in the empty room below.

As dilapidated and forgotten as the Eastvale ghetto had become, it was by no means devoid of life. Quite a few Dersites who had lived there prior to the dissension's initial uprising had not left, stubbornly clinging to their homes and fighting off looters even as the Obsidian Moon burned around them. These individuals tended to keep to themselves, rarely venturing out into the open unless absolutely necessary…and even then, only in groups.

Most of the people Burnless usually came across in Eastvale were vagrants; some of them sat silently on the sides of the street, others wandered through the alleys in drug-induced dazes. While these individuals certainly had their fair share of issues, they were the harmless ones. Eastvale was also rife with thugs and criminals; the crime rate was so ridiculous that the Enforcers no longer bothered to even patrol the ghetto—and on the incredibly rare occasion they _did_ enter Eastvale, it was only in great force, and usually under the direction of the Agents.

Like the harmless vagrants, these Dersites had been unable to make the transition from military service to a quasi-civilian life on Derse…only they turned to violence as a coping mechanism, rather than simply shutting down mentally or falling to drugs like many of the vagrants. They were all traumatized veterans, hollowed out by the horrors they had experienced in the Black King's never-ending crusade against Prospit. And unlike Prospit, Derse did not have any real psychiatric services available to its troubled veterans, which unfortunately meant that the vast majority of the vagrants and criminals were beyond helping.

The Wrathful Veteran could not help but feel a deep pang of great sorrow as he followed Burnless, sprinted past many of these forgotten souls, saw the emptiness in their eyes. He had suffered through much during the War of the Nobles, but the Veteran had luckily managed to cope and integrate with society by clinging to his desire for the people of Derse to be free of the harsh rule of the Black King and Queen. And even then, he'd only just _barely_ managed to retain his sanity. He still had nightmares of his military service throughout the War of the Nobles—the chessboard-pattern earth of the Battlefield…vast, grassy expanses choked with corpses…entire rivers running red with blood.

The vagrants, the criminals who lived in Eastvale had fought for the King and Queen, had given everything for their kingdom…and now, having outlived their usefulness as soldiers and unable to continue being useful as Dersite citizens, they had been forgotten. Discarded, like broken components.

Sometimes when the Wrathful Veteran was feeling weary of his struggle against the Black Queen, when his dreams threatened to overwhelm him, when he began to question the rightfulness of his cause in any way…he would secretly leave the Onyx and wander the alleys of the Eastvale ghetto. If only for a little while, the Veteran would become a vagabond, would see the quality of life these forgotten former soldiers had…and then the Wrathful Veteran's resolve would reignite.

The Veteran would remember the zeal with which his beliefs had burned when he was younger, newly-discharged from the Black King's Umbral Commandos—he'd had to temper his fervor with prudence when the dissension was forced to retreat into the shadows, facing mass execution at the hands of the Black Queen and her pets. But still…even if the Wrathful Veteran could no longer afford to fight with that same zeal, challenging the Queen out in the open…it felt good to taste the idealism, every once in a while.

"_Hard left, sir!_"

The Wrathful Veteran shook his head once, bringing himself back to full awareness after being jerked out of his own thoughts by the younger Dersite's voice. The dark-shelled carapacian revolutionary hid his frown, silently scolding himself for the lapse in focus. Burnless slipped into a narrow side alleyway that the Wrathful Veteran would have happily sprinted right past, had the runner not given him warning.

The narrow alley was many things—it was filthy, it was smelly, it was partially-blocked by rubble in some places… But it most certainly was _not_ a straight path. It wound its way through the depths of the slums like a drunken snake, taking the two dissenters deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of Eastvale. At the speed they were running, it took all the Wrathful Veteran's concentration to avoid tripping himself up, or running face-first into a wall. Were it not for the Prince's tower, looming far above the squat buildings of the ghetto, the Veteran would have found it quite impossible to orient himself.

When they got to a more or less straight section of the alley, the Veteran checked his pocket watch once more. It had been one minute and thirteen seconds since they'd arrived in Eastvale. He considered informing Burnless that the runner had little more than forty seconds left to make good on his boast, but ultimately decided against it—no need to add unnecessary pressure on the younger Dersite.

After sprinting down the narrow alley a fair distance, Burnless pointed to a flight of violet-stone stairs up ahead. They had once led up to the top floor of a taller building that had long since crumbled in on itself. The Wrathful Veteran took the stairs three at a time, his efforts to keep up with Burnless beginning to make him pant.

While the building to which the violet-stone stairway belonged had mostly collapsed, there was still a small portion of its roof left standing. Most of the support beams had failed, however, causing one side of the roof remnant to fall directly on top of the stairway. Burnless and the Veteran pounded their way up this makeshift ramp, ascending to the height of the rooftops.

The Obsidian Moon and Derse, when viewed from space, appeared to be a simple planet and moon that were both completely covered with a city of purple and black. What one could not perceive from space was the changes in elevation in the various districts. The Wrathful Veteran could now see that they were sprinting towards the edge of an escarpment, where the rooftops suddenly dropped away. The outskirts of the ghetto continued beyond this change in elevation, over fifty feet _lower_ than the area the two dissenters were currently sprinting through.

Burnless led the Wrathful Veteran across the derelict rooftops of Eastvale. Most of the buildings in the ghetto were connected to each other, separated only by streets and alleys, so it was not hard to travel longer distances without having to drop to street level. Burnless avoided the streets, however, keeping to a path that would only require them to traverse alleyways. These alleyways were normally narrow enough for Burnless and the Wrathful Veteran to simply jump across without any trouble.

"See that clock tower?" Burnless hollered back to the Veteran, pointing ahead once more.

The Wrathful Veteran spared an upward glance. True to Burnless's word, the Eastvale clock tower was up ahead, built right into the edge of the escarpment, casting a long shadow over the low-lying buildings and domiciles of the Eastvale outskirts below. It was easily the tallest building in the entire ghetto, still standing strong even if its clocks no longer told the time. "I see it!" the Veteran hollered back.

"There's another zip line at the top!" Burnless explained, hurdling lithely over a stone divider that had been placed on the rooftops to establish the division between two adjacent buildings. "That line will take us to the base of the Prince's tower!"

The two dissenters increased their speed even more, the Wrathful Veteran simply doing his best to ignore the deep-set burning that had already consumed his legs and lungs, focusing only on making sure he did not lose his balance or run straight off a rooftop. Over another alleyway, around a row of iron chimneys, running…always, _always_ running… The Veteran could see, now, why Burnless had made his boast. Traversing the rooftops straight towards the Prince's tower would take much less time than using the maze-like streets to navigate one's way there.

There was one last alleyway that separated the two dissenters from the clock tower, and this one was too wide to jump. Burnless had known about this, but he did not worry—he'd brought the Wrathful Veteran to a point in the alley where a beam of dark metal connected two opposing rooftops. Once upon a time, a banner had likely hung from the beam, or perhaps even dirty laundry. Now, its original purpose forgotten, the metal beam now served as a crossing point.

Burnless did not hesitate, jumping off the roof and landing nimbly on the dark metal beam. A new respect for the runner filled the Wrathful Veteran as he watched Burnless practically fly across the alleyway, his feet almost appearing to never touch the small iron bar. Keeping his balance was not even an afterthought to the dissenter runner—he simply would not fall.

The Wrathful Veteran had a good sense of balance, but agility did not come nearly as naturally to him. He was considerably slower than Burnless, spreading his arms out as wide as possible, always putting one foot in front of the other. Most importantly, the Veteran kept _moving_—it was easier for him to keep his balance if he didn't stop his forward motion. All his movement was focused forward…otherwise, it would fall off to a side, and that would be that.

Finally, the Veteran reached the other side of the metal bar, hopping up onto the opposite row of rooftops. Burnless was already back up to full speed, forcing the Veteran to push his body to the very limit. The Wrathful Veteran was tiring at this breakneck pace, however, and his increased efforts were enough only for him to match Burnless's pace. He could not quite catch up to the younger Dersite, any longer.

It took only ten, fifteen seconds to make it across the last stretch of rooftops and reach the clock tower. There used to be a roof-access door for entry into the clock tower, but now there was only an empty doorway. The Wrathful Veteran followed Burnless into the tower. The interior of the tower comprised of a simple spiral staircase that hugged the wall, as well as a system of pulleys, platforms, and ropes that filled the center of the space.

Burnless leaped off the staircase, landed on one of the hanging wooden platforms. The Wrathful Veteran had been about to start ascending the stairs, so he gave a little start of surprise when this turned out to be the wrong thing to do. As Burnless extended a helping hand, the Veteran jumped the gap between the platform and the stairs, steadying himself by grabbing Burnless's hand when he landed on the rickety wooden surface.

The younger Dersite stomped his foot down on the counterweight release catch on the side of the platform. The counterweight—a heavy iron ball attached to the end of its rope—plummeted downward, which sent the wooden platform shooting straight up towards the top of the tower. Burnless and the Veteran grabbed hold of the platform's ropes to keep themselves steady. The Veteran took the opportunity to discreetly catch his breath, trying his best not to let Burnless see how exhausted he was.

Burnless noticed, however. "I've run with a lot of people, sir. Most wouldn't have even made it to that first alleyway at my speed without collapsing from a cramp."

"Your reassurances are quite…quite unnecessary, Burnless…" the Veteran managed to reply, speaking between his ragged breaths. "…but thank you."

The platform bore the two dissenters straight up into the upper chamber of the clock tower. Burnless hit the counterweight release catch once more, bringing the platform jolting to a stop before the iron ball struck the floor, way down at the bottom of the tower. They disembarked, stepping out into the upper chamber. Three of the walls were the backsides of the tower clocks—the fourth clock, however, had been shattered a long time ago, allowing the Veteran and Burnless to climb through to the ledge beyond.

"You have just reached two minutes, Burnless," the Wrathful Veteran informed the runner as they stepped out onto the ledge, stowing his pocket watch.

Burnless gave a quiet sigh, feeling his heart sink an inch or two. "Will that be double watch shifts for a month, then, sir?"

A low, hearty chuckle rumbled up from the Veteran's throat. "Perhaps…perhaps that will _also_ be unnecessary. We will speak on this later." Normally the Wrathful Veteran would have followed through on his resolution, but he also felt that Burnless had earned himself a reprieve.

The clock tower offered a good view of the entire Eastvale ghetto, as well as the ramshackle outskirts that surrounded it. And only several city blocks distant, the Prince's tower awaited. This time, the Wrathful Veteran spotted the camouflaged zip line before Burnless grasped it, already removing his suit jacket in preparation. The zip line was secured to the tower, just above the frame of the shattered clock, and it stretched away at a reasonably steep angle towards the base of the Prince's tower.

While Burnless threw his jacket over the zip line, the Wrathful Veteran turned his gaze up to the spherical chamber at the top of the Prince's tower, trying a second time to see if he could get a glimpse of the Hero.

The Wrathful Veteran was actually blinded for a few seconds by the explosion. He watched it happen almost in slow motion—first, the fire roared out of the four windows of the spherical dream room, shooting out first in the four cardinal directions. Then, the force of the explosion grew too great to be dispersed through those four windows.

The Prince's dream tower was silhouetted by the blast for a moment—this was the last thing the Veteran saw before his eyes reflexively squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face from the blinding light of the blast. When he was finally able to open them, he saw Burnless staring in a shocked silence, his eyes wide as dinner platters, his mouth agape, unable to form words.

The Wrathful Veteran looked back up to the ruins of the Prince's tower, the deafening blast still echoing all across the Obsidian Moon. The entire top third of the Prince's tower, including the spherical dream room at the apex, had been blown to pieces. Chunks of violet-stone masonry were still soaring through the air, slamming down into the surrounding area. Fires were still burning, and a mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke was slowly ballooning into the air.

As the echoes of the explosion faded, silence fell over the Obsidian Moon like a smothering blanket.

"Sir, the…the…" Burnless swallowed loudly, struggling to form the words with his barely-responsive mouth. "…the Prince…? Sir…?"

The Wrathful Veteran was stupefied, could not take his eyes off the mushroom cloud of smoke. "_No…_" he murmured to himself, shaking his head slowly, his mind still attempting to process what he had just witnessed. "No, no, this can't _be_…"

"_Sir…? Sir, do you…do you see that?_"

The Veteran was only marginally listening to the runner's voice, still frozen at the sight of the wreckage. Distant sirens could now be heard as Enforcers responded to sites where chunks of masonry from the destroyed tower had caused damage and harm from their impacts. "She… She broke the Rules…" the Veteran continued to speak to himself, smoldering anger flaring up within him as he saw columns of smoke begin to rise in over a dozen places. Fires had broken out from the falling debris.

His hands balling into fists, the Wrathful Veteran seethed at the destruction that had been caused, beginning to see the first motes of the flames that were producing those pillars of ash. How many innocents had died or been hurt because of this? Because the Black Queen had broken the Rules and killed a Hero's dream self?

"_Sir!_" Burnless yanked the Veteran out of his daze with a sharp yell, grasping the revolutionary leader's arm, pointing to the sky. "Sir, _look!_ Is that…?"

The Wrathful Veteran looked skyward. He should have spotted it on his own, but the sudden destruction of the dream tower had shaken him to his core. Now that he had moved past the initial shock, the Veteran could easily see a humanoid figure hurtling through the air towards them. At least, it _appeared_ to be humanoid… Curiously enough, it seemed to be falling a tad bit more slowly than a normal object—all the debris from the tower, after all, had already made landfall. All except for this strange figure…

The person-shaped figure fell straight past the Eastvale clock tower. As it passed by, the Wrathful Veteran, whose eyesight was still recovering from the blast, was able to glimpse clothing that was distinctly purple and resembled sleepwear, as well as strange-looking footwear that was a brilliant golden-yellow in color.

The plummeting figure fell past the clock tower, crash-landing somewhere deep within the Eastvale ghetto. There was no doubt about it—that had been the Prince's dream self. Perhaps the Hero of Mind had survived? It was a fool's hope, but even the hope of a fool was good enough for the Wrathful Veteran.

The Veteran could hear more sirens, now, sirens that were still growing louder and louder. He swore under his breath—if he had just seen where the Prince had fallen, other people had certainly seen it as well. And now the Enforcers were on their way, the Agents likely not far behind them. Even if the Prince was dead, the Wrathful Veteran knew the Queen would want the body. She would hang it from the gate of the Obsidian Keep, most likely.

No; alive or dead, the Prince could not be allowed to fall into the Black Queen's hands.

The Wrathful Veteran leaped back into action, looking away from the burning wreckage of the Prince's tower. "Back to the rooftops," the Veteran ordered his runner, stepping back through the shattered clock into the tower's upper chamber. "I want that Hero, Burnless. Get me to him."


	58. V Chapter 58: Soul Doctor

**_Author's Note_**

_Hello, readers, let me start by saying it's good to be updating again! I'm afraid I owe you guys an apology for the hiatus - it was quite unplanned! But what happened was I started working as a grill cook at the Exton Chipotle at the beginning of the summer, and I barely had time to get enough _sleep,_ let alone maintain my writing! And then, to make everything all better, I came down with a nice, comfortable, stress-relieving case of MONO, which then gave me secondary TONSIL AND SINUS INFECTIONS, all at the SAME FUCKING TIME. FUCK! As you can see, I am not a huge fan of mono. I sat at home for two weeks trying to write this chapter, but when you're that sick, well...sometimes the creative juices don't flow as well as they usually do when you're busy concentrating on your bleeding throat._

_But anyway, I'm back in good health, and I was finally able to finish this chapter. It's a bit on the wordy side, I noticed, but I decided to keep it that way. After all, it'll be the first time I've ever really delved into another person's mind while telling the story in 3rd Person, so in some ways this chapter is like a mini-experiment to see how it works out._

_Unfortunately, I can't promise rapid updates in the future because of my work schedule, but I really shouldn't have anymore long, unplanned hiatuses like this anytime soon - at least, not until the school year starts. Then it might get tricky, but that's just another bridge we'll cross when we get to it. Until then, I'm going to make the most of this summer and see where this story takes me next!_

_Okay, I'll stop jabbering, now. Hope you guys enjoy the new chapter! And if you haven't been outside, yet, go take a walk when you're finished; it's fucking beautiful outside, today! But yeah, just wanted to apologize and everything. Good to be back._

_-TheAmateur_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Fifty-Eight: Soul Doctor<span>

Cass Galavis could not stop staring at her friend.

Was he even her friend? It had been nearly a week, and Cass still was not sure.

He was sleeping at the moment, curled up within the fork between two tree branches, the glow of his body waxing and waning with his breaths. He had Adam's face, he had Adam's voice, he had Adam's memories…he sounded like Adam, spoke like him, shared his facial features… Cass tried to see past the feathers and wings, past the energy-based sprite body; she really tried, but…

Deep down, Cass knew she'd be lying to herself if she tried to believe that the creature who'd saved her life was Adam. He had not spoken very much to her, but Cass could tell that he was definitely _not_ Adam Tarrant. Sure, Adam could sometimes lean slightly towards the depressed end of the emotional spectrum, but his higher qualities had always outshone that aspect of himself. Cass had always been drawn to the vitality, levelheadedness, and humor that seemed to radiate from him. When he was happy, he could light up a room. Adam did this without even being aware of it, and this was part of why Cass was drawn to him.

But with Adamsprite… There was no radiance. Instead, there was a gray mist—a sadness, a deep bitterness within the sprite that Adam had never possessed. And it seemed to penetrate to the sprite's very essence. For the first couple days, the spritified version of the boy Cass liked had barely spoken two words to her. As they made their way through the underling-infested jungle, Adamsprite fought alongside Cass every time they encountered a swarm of monsters. But in the quiet stretches…he kept to himself, silent, angry. He would not answer her when she spoke to him, would not look her in the eye. And during the nights, when he thought Cass was sleeping, she could hear him weeping quietly to himself.

And the worst part about it was his throat. Adamsprite's throat had been slit. The actual wound seemed to be benign—there was no blood, Adamsprite could breathe perfectly normally, did not even seem to notice…but his throat was _slit_. The gruesome wound, luckily, was not a wide open one, but still… Cass could see some of the tissues and insides within the sprite's throat if she looked too closely. She'd never had the courage to ask him about it, how he had gotten it. But she knew that if her curiosity held at its current level, it would not be much longer until she had to broach the subject in some way.

Maybe it would not be such a humongous deal in a few days. Cass could see Adamsprite calming down. He wasn't exactly getting better, but he _was_ calming down. Maybe in a few days, Cass would be able to question him without fear of another episode. Maybe it wouldn't even take _that_ long. After all, Adamsprite had been enduring the jungle and underling swarms together with Cass for nearly a week—it is impossible for two people to survive an underling-infested jungle for that long without developing some sense of trust between them, however slight. The past five days had been difficult for both of them, and yesterday had been no exception.

The day before had been the hardest. After evading no less than six separate swarms of imps and ogres—not counting the additional two flocks of winged basilisks that swooped down on them from above—Adamsprite and Cass had limped their way through the jungle until Skaia set below the western horizon, ushering in twilight and heralding the approach of nightfall. Knowing that it would be suicide to attempt to continue through the jungle at night, Cass and Adamsprite had been forced to seek shelter.

That shelter had come in the form of one of the colossal banyan trees that grew all throughout the jungle. These trees were truly humongous—their trunks at their thickest could have fit seven or eight grown men lying, head-to-toe, in a straight line. The massive tree trunk then split into seven or so main boughs; these boughs continued to grow, though in a much more roundabout way—they spread outwards before continuing their upward climb towards the light that gave them sustenance, twisting about in seemingly-random directions, sometimes weaving around each other, providing the structural support for the Giant Banyan's 'thicket' of branches. From those boughs, hundreds more secondary branches sprouted, each of those branches having their _own_ smaller limbs that bore the tree's massive canopy of emerald green, golden yellow, and amethyst violet leaves.

The giant banyan tree towered over all the surrounding trees—from its very top, other Giant Banyans could be spotted in the near distance. Upon locating this particular tree, Adamsprite had chosen it as a resting place for him and Cass to take shelter in before nightfall. Cass had already been asleep by the time they reached this particular Giant Banyan, exhausted from all the running and fighting, carried up into its boughs by an equally-exhausted Adamsprite. The sprite had seemed to have an unlimited amount of strength, but this was not true. Thanks to the vitality provided by the strength of his eagle half, the powers of a Knight of the Force Aspect, and the energy of his sprite body, Adamsprite was able to endure much more than a human being should have ever been able to…but he, too, had his limits.

The vibrant crimson light of Adamsprite's energy-based body had dimmed to a faint glow by the time he brought Cass up into the Giant Banyan, but now… Now the sprite's aura shined with a brighter glow. The once-erratic pulsing of Adamsprite's aura had also mostly stabilized, along with his breathing, save for the semi-frequent irregularity in the rhythm. This was a rest he had desperately needed. Adamprite had chosen a long, horizontal section of the largest of the primary boughs, where it curved back around after its initial outward expansion from where the main trunk split, growing straight through the center of the Giant Banyan's 'thicket' of tree limbs like a crude bridge. This horizontal section of the primary tree limb was wide enough for four people to walk on it side-by-side, and flat enough to allow the two weary companions to lie down comfortably and get some rest. Adamsprite could only hope that he'd feel better after he rested, and so he curled up and went to sleep immediately after setting Cass down and ensuring she would not somehow roll off the large bough.

And that was where he still lay. Cass had woken up before dawn, fully rested and ready to face today's challenges. She had taken a moment to get her bearings, understand and remember what had transpired the night before, connecting the dots in her mind. Seeing her adopted spirit guide asleep between the fork of two secondary branches further on down the giant tree bough she'd woken up on, Cass stood up and walked to the center of the banyan tree's canopy. She sat back down close to her companion, but not too close. Cass settled in, rested against another secondary tree limb, waited patiently for her companion to wake up.

Adamsprite's sanity had been pretty unstable at first, and Cass had feared he'd either leave or explode if she pressed him for answers too soon. Much as she wanted to understand what Adamsprite's deal was, Cass had not wanted such knowledge to come at the price of driving the troubled sprite-boy away. As messed up as he was in the noggin, Adamsprite was a deadly-capable fighter, and Cass knew that she would not stand a chance against all the underling swarms by herself, not without her own sprite there to help her. Ever since the unfortunately sudden, fiery demise of Cass's infant-like dragonsprite, she needed Adamsprite more than she wanted to admit.

Even so, after nearly a week of running away from underling swarms in this jungle, the sprite boy's lack of communication was beginning to wear at Cass's patience. She simply needed someone to talk to—Cass still had her iphone, and she'd been communicating with the others regularly…well, except for Adam. The _real_ Adam, that is. He was logged into PalHassle most of the time, though Cass correctly assumed that this was because he simply forgot to sign out and go offline whenever he was finished messaging someone. This meant that Cass had no way to tell if Adam had simply left his account online, or if he was actually _on_ PalHassle, and so she had made it so that he could not see if she was online. This was because of a highly disturbing incident during their last conversation that Cass did not want to think about, let alone _chat_ with him about.

And even with the others, most of whom Cass maintained steady, regular communication with…Palhassle chats and text messages simply made poor substitutes for verbal conversation. And so, while she waited for the sprite boy to wake up, Cass decided she would attempt once again to break the ice after five or six days of relative silence. Adamsprite seemed to have calmed down slightly, and there had not been an underling swarm in many hours. She did not know when she would get another chance as good as this.

It was not until after Skaiarise that Adamsprite finally stirred.

It was a cloudless morning—a rarity on the Land of Thunder and Dwarves, named partially for its turbulent weather. The daytime sky, when visible, was a golden-yellow color. During Skaiaset, before nightfall, the sky would be shot through with beams of brilliant amber and scarlet. But now, as Skaia rose in the east and ushered in morning, the sky was filled with softer colors. Violet and lavender, rose and pink, with traces of deep red and maroon. The breathtaking radiance was caught by the hundreds of floating isles and mountains that drifted through the skies, their rocky foundations glittering in the morning light.

Birdsong began to fill the jungle as the creatures of the wood woke to greet the morning, breaking the nocturnal silence that had allowed Adamsprite to sleep at all. The creature's aura pulsed once with a bright pink haze as his eyes snapped open, quickly resolving into its usual crimson hue. The sprite boy sat upright, his wings briefly stretching out to their full span, easing out the aches and kinks. It was the birdsong, Cass hypothesized, that roused Adamsprite. She wondered if, being half eagle, the sprite boy could make any kind of sense out of the other birds' musical calls.

Adamsprite noticed Cass looking at him and promptly folded his wings back up, casting his gaze downward. But this time, Cass was not going to let him sink back into his misery. This time, she acted.

"Why won't you ever look at me?" Cass asked the sprite, keeping her tone inquisitive and gentle, not confrontational.

Adamsprite surprised Cass by glowering at her and actually giving a verbal response, if not the kind of one she was hoping for. "_Don't talk to me._"

"No, Adam." Cass shook her head, still calling the creature by her friend's name, in spite of herself. She could never bring herself to call him 'Adam_sprite_'; that name just sounded unnatural and undesirable in her mouth. She'd only called the sprite boy 'Adamsprite' once, and after noticing how deeply affected he'd been by it, Cass had never done so again. "You've spent the whole week giving me the cold shoulder, and I'm driving myself crazy trying to find out why. Why won't you look at me? Have I done something to you?"

"_Yes,_" Adamsprite snapped, almost making Cass jump. She could never tell when the sprite boy was about to cry, screech, or shout because his mood shifts happened usually without warning. The sprite then settled back down into his resting spot, leaning back against one of the smaller tree limbs. When he spoke again, his tone had softened a bit, dropping the hostile sharpness in his voice...but he still would not meet Cass's gaze. "Well… No. No, forget it."

"_No, Adam!_" It was Cass's turn to raise her voice. It was the first time she'd done this, and it caused Adamsprite to wince slightly. Already swearing at and kicking himself for yelling, Cass quickly tried to salvage the conversation by changing tack. "Look… Look, I'm sorry for yelling, it's just I've… I've got my life at stake, here, and I'm scared. Like..._really_ scared, okay? I need you, Adam; I won't last a minute out here by myself. I've never asked you about what happened to you because I was afraid you were going to leave me alone out here if I pried…but I can't do this, anymore. I need to know—what did I do to you?"

"It's nothing you've done…" Adamsprite murmured in reply, blinking several times as the partially-repressed, forgotten, ignored memories came back to him. "It's what you're _gonna_ do. It hasn't happened yet. I don't want to talk about it."

"Was…was I the one who…?" Cass gestured at the wound in Adamsprite's throat, running a finger across her neck to get her point across. Even if she could not get another word from the sprite, Cass wanted to at least know that she had not been the one who slit his throat. She could not imagine herself doing such a thing, but she still needed to be sure...

Adamsprite got her meaning, shook his head. "No, you didn't kill me—that was someone else… What _you_ did was worse."

That had given Cass some measure of relief…only for it to be ripped away a moment later. She had not asked the obvious questions, yet—who was Adamsprite really, how did he die, how did he end up prototyped with a sprite? She had not asked them because she knew they would likely push Adamsprite back over the edge…but she still did not have the answer to the biggest question: what had she done to him? She knew she would not be able to get that answer straightaway—she had to build up to it, like dipping her toes into a pool before easing herself in.

"If what I did to you was so horrible…" Cass went on, choosing her words as carefully as carefully as Jesus had chosen his disciples. "Why…why did you save my life, then? Why didn't you just let me die, back on my rooftop?"

"Because I wasn't trying to save you, Cass." Adamsprite finally looked up, finally met Cass's eyes. Though the sprite's body was composed entirely of red energy, his eyes still looked like they were real. And Cass could not fathom the depth of the pain she saw in them. And there was something else she could sense in them, as well... Was it guilt? "I was trying to _kill_ you."

Cass blinked once, his brow creasing in a frown. Shaking her head slowly, she said, "What? No, you… You _took_ that fireball for me, fought off all those wyrms, you…you helped me through my first gate! I'd be dead if it weren't for you!"

Adamsprite shook his head, fighting the urge to avert his gaze, his efforts to maintain eye contact with Cass clearly visible. "No, I was trying to kill you. That fireball I saved you from? I didn't see it coming. It hit me before I could attack you. Snapped me out of it, I guess…kinda like a splash of water to the face...wish it hadn't taken a fireball to make me come back to my senses..."

"But…but why, Adam?"

"Because, thanks to you, I wasn't exactly _sane_ at the time," the sprite muttered in reply. He snapped his talon-like fingers, conjured a tiny mote of flame, twirled it around his thumb and forefinger. Cass noticed this—it was a habit the sprite boy got into whenever he was uncomfortable. His own way of biting his fingernails, Cass figured. "And you really should stop calling me that. It's not… It's not my name, anymore. Never was."

That made Cass's frown deepen even more as her confusion increased. "Don't think like that. Just because you self-prototyped doesn't mean you aren't still Adam-"

"_Shut up!_" Adamsprite snarled as another surge of fury burst through the floodgates, the aura of his ethereal body flaring with an angry scarlet blaze. There were flames, too; a blast of almost blistering heat that nearly gave Cass first-degree burns.

The sprite was taken aback by the searing rage that had torn through him so suddenly, hadn't meant to shout, couldn't even remember why he'd raised his voice… He saw Cass jump, startled by his loss of control, _frightened_ by him…then the rage came to a standstill, dissipated, and the all-too-familiar sadness came back, his sprite body's burst of fiery red energy subsiding back into the calm, stable rhythm that pulsed faintly in tandem with his heartbeat. Cass immediately regained her composure, but Adamsprite had already seen her jump. He had the vision of an eagle, now—there was little that got past him undetected.

"It's _not_ my name…" Adamsprite repeated himself, his voice now quiet and subdued. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince _himself_ of the fact, rather than inform Cass of it. "I'm not… I'm not _him_. I was just _his_ dream self. You made that perfectly clear to me..."

That got another blink from Cass. She was fairly sure the sprite boy hadn't even meant to utter that last statement; Adamsprite already looked like he regretted saying it. But it was too late—Cass had heard it, and now she was beginning to get an idea of where to take the questions next. A few puzzle pieces were sliding into place, but the puzzle itself was painfully incomplete. There were many large pieces that were still hidden from her...

Cass had a brief moment of self-doubt when she was able to shake her head once, wondering why she felt such a strong desire to get answers. The teenage girl did not know why she was still pressing the issue with her adopted spirit guide, but…something about Adamsprite… Something about the wretched creature really got under her skin. Even when she was not trying to talk to him, Adamsprite was the only thing dominating her thoughts, and it was driving her crazy. It was not romantic or sexual, like most people whom her thoughts centered around...it was something else. She could not get him out of her head—only now, as she finally started to ask questions and get glimpses of the answers she sought, did Cass feel anything resembling relief from her fixation.

All her life, Cass had been obsessed with medicine. Before a sudden storm of meteorites had ended the world, she'd been planning to go to medical school and become a doctor—Cass had not yet figured out exactly what she wanted to specialize in…but she'd always felt a strong urge to heal other people, and becoming some sort of doctor seemed to be the logical choice. When she was little, Cass had been given a toy doctor's bag by her Mom for her birthday. It had been her favorite possession until elementary school, complete with toy bandages and casts, a plastic stethoscope, and a pretend blood pressure cuff. When Cass began kindergarten, however, she'd thrown away all the doctor toys and filled the first-aid kit with the real deal—she had discovered a vast quantity of medical supplies in the attic of her home. There was only one person to whom those medical supplies could belong…but Cass had no idea why her Mom would ever need them—Chloe Galavis worked for Skaianet. Why would a Skaianet employee need so many medical supplies? She was probably moonlighting as a secret agent, for all Cass knew. But these were questions for another time.

In elementary school, Cass's favorite thing to do had been to go around during recess with antiseptic and bandaids, treating her classmates' cuts and scrapes whenever they were injured—strangely enough, those whom she treated noticed that when Cass tended to them, their injuries healed much faster than they should have, and whatever pain they were feeling would inexplicably vanish. But they were just kids, unable to dwell on these abnormalities like an adult would have. And so, word of Cass's apparent 'healing hands' never spread far, fading back into obscurity within a couple years.

Cass outgrew this hobby by third grade after getting in trouble for attempting to set a classmate's broken arm in a splint. The injury had happened during an outdoor gym class, and Cass tended to her classmate while the teacher was off fetching the school nurse—although Cass had been successful in setting the broken limb, the school authorities did not want first-aid being performed by anyone other than the nurse or a certified member of the staff, due to fear of lawsuits. Not wanting to deal with getting in trouble, again, Cass's doctor fantasy stepped aside to make way for her doctor 'reality'; her aspirations to go to medical school.

But her desire to heal had never gone away.

And right now…it was this very same desire to heal that drove her to keep trying to understand Adamsprite's plight. Cass was rather surprised by this—she had never been drawn to those in need of psychological healing, before. She had always been drawn to the physical aspect of healing—pain could lessen, tangible afflictions she could instinctively detect and fix.

But now, for the first time…she could _sense_ the sickness in Adamsprite's psyche. She could sense it largely the same way she'd been able to sense the strong guilt in the sprite boy's eyes when he'd finally looked at her...only now, it was to a much more heightened degree. She could not read his mind, or anything like that—what Cass was sensing seemed more like a never-ending, constantly-shifting series of...'impressions' was the closest word to what Cass was trying to describe. To her, it felt like Adamsprite's mind had been shattered, stomped on…and then crudely put back together with Elmer's glue and scotch tape. It would be a falsehood to claim that the sprite's mind was stable—a more accurate way of describing it would be that it was currently in a 'state of balance'.

That balance, however, was painfully fragile...which made it incredibly unstable. As Cass perceived it, she started to understand his erratic outbursts of emotion. With the balance inside his psyche as precarious as it was, she knew that it would not take very much to bring it all crashing down. The psyche was trying to put itself back together, but it was unable to... It was unable to, Cass realized, because she could sense two _separate_ forces trying desperately to restore the balance, but they weren't working together. Their haphazard, individualized attempts to restore order were merely weakening one another and causing the dangerously volatile psyche to slide into further flux and disarray.

It was almost like two quarreling people attempting to rebuild a mostly-destroyed house with raw materials. Each person had his own idea of what they wanted the house to look like, and so rather than working together, the two people would fight each other while they worked. Ultimately, the two builders' quarreling would simply cause further damage to the ruined house's already-weakened structure, erasing whatever little amounts of progress they might have made individually. If they went at it for too long without some form of reconciliation and cooperation between them, their quarreling would inevitably cause what remained of the house to collapse entirely-

Cass shook her head several times, blinking rapidly as she had another lucid moment of self-doubt. What she was doing felt _incredibly_ strange. Sure, Cass had always had a knack for first-aid, and some of her ability with medicine was difficult to explain, but... What was she _doing?_ Cass was certainly not clairvoyant, or anything like that…that would be ridiculous! There was no such thing as clairvoyance! And yet... And yet, here Cass was, somehow consciously perceiving and observing something beyond the scope of her five physical senses. And if she'd looked that definition up in the dictionary, the result would have been...clairvoyance. Something really, _really_ strange was happening to her...

Then the lucidity faded and the flow of questions started to come back to Cass, gently and subtly pushing aside the confused girl's thoughts about the impossibility of what she was experiencing. And only now was Cass able to actively notice that her old, innate desire to heal was the reason behind her acute curiosity of Adamsprite's situation and origins, as well as how she'd been involved in his descent into madness. And now that she could feel that desire on a fully conscious level, it only seemed to grow stronger. Cass felt like if she ignored her desire, if she forced herself to stop trying to connect with Adamsprite, she would explode—much like how people with Tourette's felt like they would explode if they resisted their ticks.

It had become a compulsion.

This time, Cass was able to feel the compulsion take hold of her; it was almost as if it had been dormant within her...waiting for the proper stimulus to be activated, but always _there..._in the background... Almost like a sleeping ipod, inert until 'stimulated' by a charger cord. In Cass's case, her attempts to coax answers from Adamsprite served as the 'charger cord' to her healing compulsion. _Healing..._ It occurred to Cass that healing was the key to all this. Perhaps getting her answers would also result in some form of healing...forcing Adamsprite to face parts of his memory that he had instinctively denied and partially 'blocked'. When someone hides away their pain in such a manner, they will never be able to completely free themselves of it until they face it and accept it.

In this case, seeing the potential benefit to Adamsprite's well being if she were to continue helping him... Cass believed that she would be wise to take a deep breath and stop resisting the compulsion, see instead where it would lead her if she followed it. There were more questions that needed to be asked. It occurred to Cass that perhaps her newfound compulsion to heal stemmed from being a Sylph of… Cass frowned, trying to recall what little knowledge her dragonsprite had nigh-unintelligibly imparted, before it had been violently incinerated by wyrms as it tried to defend her from the initial attack on her house. _Death,_ Cass finally recalled the latter half of her Hero title, grateful for being able to stop sifting through memories of Day One. _Sylph of_ _Death_.

Before her sprite's unfortunate, premature demise…after proclaiming Cass as the Sylph of Death, the dragonsprite had tried to explain what that entailed. It described the role of the Sylph as being akin to that of a healer. At that particular moment in time, disorienting and chaotic as it was, so soon after a harrowing escape from an apocalyptic storm of meteorites, Cass had not really understood what her sprite meant. But now, after she gave it proper thought…but then, what about the second part of her heroic title, the 'Death' bit…what did _that_ mean? Healer of Death?

Did 'Death' simply mean normal, mainstream, kicked-the-bucket, joined-the-choir-invisible, cessation-of-life _death,_ or…or did it have another meaning? Cass believed it did. She'd learned all her friends' titles as well—_Seer of Time, Thane of Breath, Witch of Light…Knight of Force_. It was Adam's title, ultimately, that gave away the answer—_Force_. 'Force' really meant _energy._ Cass correctly deduced that the second bits of their heroic titles represented more than elements or ideas; they resembled primordial _forces_. Vast sources of pure energy, physically manifested and channeled through her and the others, and anyone _else_ who may have played this so-called 'game'. Normal, mainstream, etc. death did not fit the description; death was not an energy in of itself—it was an inevitability, not a force.

So if 'Death' was not completely synonymous with the normal, mainstream-etcetera _death,_ if it were a very real, possibly tangible _force_…how would it work, what would it actually be capable of, and how would a Sylph; or rather—to put it more simplistically—how would a _healer_ go about manipulating it?

These were all the right questions to be asking, but Cass was already in the middle of trying to help Adamsprite's unstable psyche—she would have to wait before she could act on these realizations and attempt to discover what exactly it meant to be a Sylph of Death. Besides, who better to give her answers than Adamsprite, who had direct access to the 'sprite knowledge' of the inner workings of the Medium. But he would only be able to help her if his mind's two separate, warring forces were able to stop worsening the damage they were causing to what remained of the overall psyche...and...

Cass was not sure exactly how long she'd zoned out for. Her thoughts and ideas had been processing so fast, it seemed...so many thoughts whirling through her head. It felt like ten minutes had past, but in all actuality, Cass's lapse in focus had lasted only for roughly half a minute. Even so, that was still thirty long seconds of silence. Cass realized that, while lost in her wandering thoughts, she had been staring at Adamsprite for an unintentionally long amount of time, his final barb hanging heavy in the air. _I was just his dream self. You made that perfectly clear to me. _This had created a lingering gap in the conversation that was swiftly crossing from '_uncomfortable_ silence' into full-on '_awkward_ silence' territory.

And as the nascent awkward silence continued, Cass gazed blankly at her surrogate spirit guide. Returning to her senses and finally regaining her earlier focus, the Sylph's compulsion returned. Cass knew it was back because she was now suddenly thinking of more questions she had for Adamsprite...each question dedicated to getting the sprite boy to a point where he could open up and face his pain. It _seemed_ like she was thinking of them all by herself—she thought them up normally, and mentally 'heard' them in her own voice, but...but the questions weren't thoughts that came from the thoughts before them, or as a result of any sort of external stimuli; instead, they had instinctively _occurred_ to her, wording and all. The questions that occurred to her were good questions—they made perfect sense to Cass, and she could easily understand the reasoning behind them...but they were not natural thoughts.

It did not matter. The questions had to be asked. There was no turning back, now.

"Dream self or no, you're still _you,_" Cass countered, reaffirming his identity as her friend, trying to seamlessly pick up where the conversation had left off during the mental tsunami of thoughts she'd been temporarily swept away by. _Curious,_ Cass observed silently to herself. _The compulsion doesn't seem to have a problem with me telling him things I don't agree with…_ Truthfully, Cass _didn't_ believe Adamsprite was the same as Adam, but that didn't matter. She knew that telling Adam that she _did_ believe he was the same person he'd believed himself to be would help with him opening up…and so, her 'compulsion' had allowed her—no, _pushed_ her to lie. Cass was not sure how she felt about that—it made her feel more like a silver-tongued manipulator than a well-meaning healer.

As she spoke, Cass rose from her resting place against the secondary tree limb, took a step towards Adamsprite, grabbing hold of some of the soft, rope-like, greenish-yellow vines that dangled down from higher branches to keep herself steady. She continued to speak. "It doesn't matter if you're a dream self or not," Cass explained. "A person is the sum of his experiences, right? You have Adam's memories, and from those you also have his experiences. You _are_ him. Telling you that you're not...well... I mean, that just sounds so cruel! How can you think I'd be that cruel to you?"

"Because you've already done it—it's already _happened,_" Adamsprite reiterated. Then, remembering that he was currently 'living' over a month in the past, relative to his own temporal path through paradox space, the sprite tried to clarify, to alleviate Cass's confusion. But he was trying to talk about some very sensitive issues, and he had to focus to keep his turbulent emotions at bay. "Look, after I…um…_died_… After I died on Prospit, my…my consciousness ended up in one of those dream bubbles, out in the Furthest Ring. That's where we end up if we flatline, and we get to relive all our memories, thinking we're actually _living_ those memories...until we become lucid, at least... But my dream self's physical body…_my_ body, rather…" Adamsprite swallowed painfully as he corrected himself. His emotions threatened to destabilize him once more, and the sprite looked away. Better to stop digging, before the tense, fragile balance in his mind was thrown back into disarray. "_Forget it_…"

"Your body, Adam?" Cass prompted the sprite, taking another step towards him, gently coaxing the truth out of the creature. "It's okay, you can tell me… What about your body?"

Adamsprite did not look like he wanted to continue, but something about Cass's voice… Almost like the whispers of the Phantom that had haunted him in the dream bubble, Cass's voice seemed to fill his mind, encouraging him to speak, reassuring him again and again that everything was going to be alright. A painful lump started to rise in the sprite's throat as he went on with his story, against his better judgment.

"My body… I dunno how, but it was sent back in time to Day One, back to when we first entered the incipisphere. Day One. I died around a month from now, you understand? All this...this is the _past,_ to me. But...but yeah, someone sent my body back in time and dumped it in Adam's house—he was messaging you when it happened; I remember he sent you a picture of it when you didn't believe him, and it really freaked you out…he tried to take the body outside and bury it, but some shit happened, the body fell into the sprite, and…and then… I woke up from the dream bubble. But I didn't wake up as Adam, or even as myself on Prospit… No, instead I woke back up as…as…as _this. _I realized that I hadn't woken up... I'd been fucking _revived_."

The crimson-hued sprite boy spat that last word like a filthy curse, gestured down at his energy-based, legless sprite body; his upper lip curled in disgust as he held up the avian talons that his fingers had partially warped into as a consequence of being merged with an eagle, flexing them for emphasis. "Get the picture? You, at this point in time, haven't hurt me yet…but you _will_. And please, don't even bother saying that you would never do it; when the time comes, you won't have a choice. Skaia doesn't give half a blue fuck about what anyone _wants_…it doesn't know or care about what you _want_. This game is not about getting what you _want;_ all Sburb really is, is a bunch of choices—crappy, blowtastic, catch-22 choices that, sooner or later, whether you want to or not...you'll have to make. There's no avoiding it, there's no getting around it. That's a lesson everyone's gonna learn eventually—_you_ especially."

"I… I don't understand," Cass spoke quietly, now, unnerved by what Adamsprite was now saying, by the ugly memory that he'd brought back to the surface. She would never forget the pix message Adam sent to her Droid smartphone, when they'd last contacted each other. It was a picture of Adam—his identical dream self, rather… 'Dream' Adam, lying sprawled on the floor, wearing golden-yellow pajamas that were heavily stained with blood; some of it old, brown, dried into the fabric of the shirt; most of it fresh and still glistening as it continued to further saturate the pajamas. And the source of all that mess, the wound all the blood was coming from, flowing steadily down Dream Adam's chest, pooling underneath his head and upper body…

Dream Adam's throat had been slit. He was dead. He was incredibly, _incredibly_ dead. And although it had only been Adam's dream self in the image…that fact mattered very little—the dream self was identical to Adam in every way, so Cass had basically experienced what it would feel like to look at the dead body of the boy she liked. Seeing a friend dead… Seeing the body, the _dead body_ of a close friend, especially in that state… All the blood, that horrible throat wound…the wide-open eyes; empty, vacant, unseeing… His irises had been red.

Cass had calmly signed out of PalHassle and deleted the pix message from her smartphone before she proceeded to run over to her room's door and vomited, sending her lunch on a one-way trip out of her stomach and into her bedroom trash can. Cass had not spoken with Adam since then. But she recalled, now, the sharp, harsh, horizontal slash wound that marred the neck of Dream Adam's corpse… It was only _now_ that she realized; it was the exact same wound that Adamsprite bore on _his_ neck.

Adamsprite was clearly telling the truth; that much, at least, could be confirmed.

_I should have made that connection the first time I saw him,_ Cass scolded herself within the soundproofed confines of her mind. More pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. But even so, Cass still had not gotten her answers. She was closer to them, but not quite there…she would have to push harder. But...Cass blinked a bead of sweat from her eyelashes, not quite willing to push the sprite boy to the level that her compulsion wanted to. Resisting the Sylph's compulsion was a pointless effort, however, and within seconds she was already thinking of the next set of possible questions to ask, waiting for the best one to make itself known to her.

At this point, though she had once again started to follow her compulsion, Cass was still beginning to wish she had never started to delve into Adamsprite's psyche, that she'd never been able to so keenly sense his pain, but…but her compulsion, it…it wouldn't let her stop-

"Cass, just… Just let it go." Adamsprite tried to deter his companion from prying any further. "Please, just this once…"

"Tell me, Adam. Tell me what I did to you." Cass did not relent—she could already feel herself beginning to penetrate the creature's weakened mental 'shield', could sense Adamsprite faltering. She was close, now… The momentum of her questions grew, blotting out her rebellious thought patterns that tried to subvert the compulsion's influence. Very close... "You're torturing yourself, keeping everything locked up inside! You have to let it go."

"I can't let it go! I've _tried_-"

"Everything will be okay. Just trust me, okay? I can help..."

"Stop," Adamsprite protested even as Cass continued to speak over him, pressing him. When his consciousness had nearly drowned in the psychological upheaval caused by his forced revival, threatened with obliteration by the twisting, deep-rooted grip of psychosis...Adamsprite only barely managed to keep the memories of his existence in the dream bubble from tearing him apart. He had not repressed them or fully blocked them out, but he had successfully been able to push them far enough from conscious thought to allow him to simply 'not think' about them. He still remembered what happened, but his conscious memories of the event were vague, foggy, hard to make sense of. The fine details, he kept away, which was not all that hard—keeping the consciousness of his eagle half in check demanded all of his attention and focus, anyway.

But Cass, she… _She_ wanted him to bring his experience all the way back into the light! Was she out of her mind? Didn't she know that the frail balance of the sprite boy's shattered psyche was dependent upon those memories staying in the shadows? She had to stop, he had to make her stop, before...

Already, Adamsprite was beginning to think of them. Names started coming back to him. Names of his neighbors, names of his classmates and teachers, names of people he hadn't even known he remembered...and whenever a name came back to him, a face would immediately follow. Adamsprite's heart pounded with alarm as he tried to stop thinking too deeply about his past. Unfortunately, while it was possible for the sprite boy to 'not think' about those memories...once they were jogged, to be able to '_stop_ thinking' about them was turning out to be an impossibility._  
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"What happened to you, Adam?" Cass's questions continued.

"_Stop,_" the sprite's tone grew forceful, angrier. Even as he tried to shut Cass out, her voice…it continued to fill his mind, subtly, giving him a sense of…of safety, of gentle encouragement. Of _peace_. Adamsprite's mind was already sifting further back into those memories, even as the ethereal boy still consciously attempted to ignore them. More names, more faces... "_Stop!_" he started to shout, now, his wing feathers beginning to twitch as the eagle portion of the sprite's shared consciousness longed to fly away from these threats to its sanity. "Why are you doing this? _Stop it! I'll lose control again!_"

Cass was getting through to him, now; she could feel it… She couldn't give him the chance to take a breath, had to keep pushing. Sweat now beaded all across Cass's forehead, beginning to drip down the sides of her face. She wanted to stop her compulsion's relentless questioning, still attempted to do so even as she dug deeper into the sprite boy's defenses, was unsuccessful… "Why did you try to kill me?"

"_Cass, please!_" Adamsprite's voice started to falter, tears of luminous white sprite energy now welling up in his eyes, making them seem like they were shining with a light of their own, his heartbeat growing faster… He was still yelling, but the anger was now gone. No longer able to 'protect' him from the influence of the prying questions, the anger had been stripped away, laying bare the raw fear underneath. Now, the sprite was begging. "Please, I don't…I don't want to think… Don't make me... _If I lose control again, I don't know if I'll be able to pull myself back together this time-_"

"Why did you go insane?" Cass took one last step forward, crouched down in front of her companion, refusing to back down. "_What happened to you, Adam?_"

The sprite bared his teeth and let out an earsplitting screech. Cass winced at the harshness of the noise; it had been shrill enough to make her ears ring. The screech had not sounded even remotely human—Adamsprite's most blatant eagle-isms always poked through when he was angry or under extreme stress. "_STOP FUCKING CALLING ME ADAM!_" the sprite raged, his high-temperature, fast-burning fury lasting only a moment or two before dissolving back into nothingness, extinguished by luminous white energy-tears as he started to cry.

For once, Cass's compulsion abated, allowing her to remain silent. This silence lasted over a minute while Adamsprite wept, but once the sprite boy was able to calm himself down enough to speak, he began his story.

"A dream bubble is made up of the memories and experiences of the consciousness inhabiting it…and mine was no different," Adamsprite explained to Cass, tears streaming down his face. The words came freely, now, without any fear to block them. He suppressed his crying enough so that he was able to talk without having his chest heaving, but the tears of luminescent white energy still flowed. "In the future, you'll end up out in the Furthest Ring, somehow. You hunted down my dream bubble, and you _altered_ it. You made me relive my memories from the perspective of Adam, my waking self…_not_ from my own. You reversed my life, made me think that _I_ was the real one... And it worked. You want to know what I remember? _Fine._ My Sis raised me since I was born, and we lived in a house in Chester Springs. We both went to Downingtown East, but you didn't end up there until the end of freshman year. I met you in the beginning of sophomore year, at that party Gino had in his old house…remember, the one I got _really_ smashed at? You have to remember. If you managed to forget getting knocked flat on your ass by my wasted sophomore year self, then the Pope is Chinese."

Cass was silent as Adamsprite let the memories come crashing back into his mind, listened as he spoke of individual conversations they'd had. The first few times they spoke to each other had been awkward, shy attempts at communication—memories of Adam drunkenly making an idiot out of himself at that party, still fresh in both their minds, leaving less-than-wonderful first impressions that needed to be overcome before a relaxation and familiarity could occur. But they hadn't given up; they kept trying, until the shyness between them started to evaporate and they found themselves growing closer.

Adamsprite's eyes actually glimmered as he recalled in vibrant detail the best parts of his life. Despite the earlier promise the sprite boy had made to himself in the rainclouds of LORAR, he no longer tried to stop the tears from flowing. He wept as he spoke fondly of his and Cass's conversations, old jokes they'd had with one another…details that Cass knew only _Adam_ should have known. Normally, that would have convinced Cass that Adamsprite was telling the truth, but she had already lost any shred of doubt the moment she was able to sense his pain.

Adamsprite had never had a single real conversation with Cass until now. He remembered countless interactions he'd had with her over the years, but he'd never participated in any of those affectionately awkward conversations, he'd never cracked a single one of those old, terrible jokes… _He_ hadn't been the one who'd had too much to drink at a house party and introduced himself to Cass by stumbling right into her and knocking both of them to the ground. How could the sprite so vividly remember these things that he had not been present for?

"And then, one day...we all got a game in the mail." Adamsprite's voice grew bittersweet as he moved his story into the present, his sadness beginning to creep back. "It was called Sburb, and it caused the end of the world…" He recounted how the game had ironically saved all of the eight friends' lives by zapping them into the Medium. He then went on to describe a quest of almost epic proportions that he'd undertaken on his planet, the Land of Rain and Rivers. He spoke of how he had to learn the nature of his quest all by himself—his sprite had abandoned him on the very first day, leaving him lost, cut off from the vital knowledge he needed to understand everything that was happening, and completely on his own.

Adamsprite shared more memories, telling Cass of how he'd started to master Force, his Aspect, as he roamed all throughout his planet for over a month after his arrival, finally managing to rally his beleaguered, squabbling cobra-consorts into a single, unified army. And it was a particular source of pride for him that he was able to accomplish all this without the help of his absent sprite. Acting solely on trial and error, best guess, and instinct to figure out the meaning behind his quest and his nature as a Knight, Adamsprite described how he had been forced to leave his comfort zone and befriend many of the consorts he encountered. And were it not for the connections he made with all the consorts he met, the bonds he'd forged with those cobras who had been closest to him..._like Glittering Scales_...

Cass remained silent, truly enraptured by the story, fearing she already knew what its conclusion would be. She wanted to interject, but she still kept silent. The troubled sprite had quite a burden to offload, and Cass knew that it was not yet time for her to speak. There was still more she needed to hear. She suspected that she would not have been able to interrupt the sprite boy's recollections even if she wanted to—her compulsion, it seemed, was equally capable of keeping her silent.

"My consorts' army had mobilized at the Forbidden River, and I was about to march on my Denizen's Palace…" Adamsprite's voice faltered again, more tears sliding down his face. "Then I was woken up as my dream self on Prospit, right in the middle of a battle. The Dersites...we never saw them coming. They launched a direct attack on Prospit. Overwhelmed the garrison of the Golden Keep, breached it... I was there, in the throne room, when the Dersites tried to take out the White Queen. I tried to protect her, and…and she _did_ survive the assault, but...but I didn't. I…I had my throat slit…"

As he spoke, the sprite boy gently touched his index finger-talon to his neck, unconsciously tracing the sharp line of the fatal slash wound that had opened his throat, the burning agony of the wound always fresh in his mind. The memory of the wound's pain nearly overwhelmed the sprite boy, but he quickly calmed himself by recalling the last sensation he remembered before the end, what had comforted him even as his body finally failed.

"You can't really remember the actual moment of death, you know…" Adamsprite pointed out to Cass, wiping the tears from his eyes and cheeks with the back of his hand. "You remember flashes…sensations…the last coherent thought you have, or emotion you feel. When I was…when I was slipping away, the White Queen was comforting me, and…and I can't remember anything she actually said, but…but I remember the sound of her voice…and then tears. The tears were the very last thing I remembered before I flatlined—I felt tears falling on my face, and I know they were tears because one of them fell in my mouth and it tasted salty, so... So, I guess the White Queen was crying, too…

"And then, when your dream self dies, you're supposed to wake back up from your little nap right away, right? Dream self dies, dream ends, back to the real world, right? Well, I _didn't_ wake up. Instead, I ended up inside that fucking dream bubble, where I was told by a future version of _you_ that—_plot twist!_—that I'd actually been stuck in this dream bubble the _whole time._ Everything I fought for and suffered through, everything I learned and accomplished…nothing but memories of challenges that someone else _already overcame_. My entire life, everything I even knew…it's all a big fucking lie. An illusion, fabricated by you... And boy, you sure didn't waste any time sugarcoating it, either…"

The conclusion of his lengthy tale now in sight, Adamsprite tackled the memories of his last few minutes in the dream bubble. Cass could hardly believe what she was hearing—according to the sprite, she had prompted him to remember his own death, causing him to become lucid of the fact that he was in a dream bubble. She had then bluntly informed him of his true nature as the consciousness of a dead dream self, stripping away his identity and causing his sense of self, as well as his overall grip on reality, to disintegrate.

"So, I…" Cass swallowed loudly when there was a lull in the story, sitting down in front of her companion, crossing her legs indian-style. "You're saying I… I'm the reason you went insane?"

Adamsprite was silent at first, unsure of what his reply should be. When he replied, however, his voice carried no traces of anger or blame. "No…well, yes and no. _Yes,_ you caused me to go crazy, but _no;_ you weren't the actual reason why I belong in an asylum." The sprite was now shining the spotlight on the last remaining memories that he'd been ignoring. They were the most painful and convoluted memories of them all—those of his traumatic revival.

Cass sensed now that the sprite boy was reaching the end. The same way she'd already instinctively known the right questions to ask Adamsprite before she even consciously thought of them… Cass found that she was already leaning forward, holding her hands out towards the sprite. Before she touched Adamsprite, she hesitated, throwing him a questioning glance. "May I?" she asked, nodding to her hands.

When Adamsprite gave her permission with a nod, Cass took a deep breath and gently pressed her right thumb to the center of the sprite's forehead, laid her left hand onto the crown of his head. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd chosen to touch him that particular way, in those specific places…but she was not giving much thought to her motives—she was too distracted by what the sprite's body _felt_ like. Although Cass had made physical contact with Adamsprite's energy-based body many times, already, while she treated his many wounds from Day One…she was still just as taken aback at how…how _alive _the sprite energy felt, for lack of a better word.

Cass felt like she was touching real human hair with her left hand—the spritified teenager's hair did not feel even _remotely_ like it was actually ethereal, energy-based sprite matter. A shiver ran up her spine as Cass felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through Adamsprite's feathers, see how real _they_ felt, her curiosity fueled by the genuine, lifelike feel of the sprite boy's hair. She perished the thought the moment it crossed her mind, however—she'd always wanted to know what the sprite boy's feathers really felt like, but she felt it would've been inappropriate to just arbitrarily start feeling around like that. This wasn't a petting zoo…

Stowing away those distracting thoughts, Cass took a deep breath and focused on the sprite's mind. Now that she was making physical contact with him, she could perceive Adamsprite's mind in a whole new level of detail. While before she had been able to interpret Adamsprite's ailing psyche through impressions, now she felt as if she was getting a high-definition peek into the sprite boy's mind. The physical contact had obviously boosted her ability to connect with whatever energy it was within Adamsprite that she was resonating to her presence. It was with relative ease that Cass could now feel the unbalanced remains of the sprite boy's psyche, full of erratic and 'glitchy' paths of thought, emotions running wild through the neural network. But there was a pattern to the chaos that Cass was able to sense and recognize, and it made her start thinking about Sigmund Freud's theoretical three-part construct of the human psyche.

First, Cass came to the revelation that the quarreling forces within the sprite boy's mind were not a result of multiple personalities, but were actually two discrete, entirely individual consciousnesses. There were literally two different beings sharing the same mind. Cass wondered for a moment what the second consciousness was...but it took her only a second to deduce that it was the consciousness of the eagle that had originally been prototyped with the sprite. Second, Cass's next realization was that the two consciousnesses both had control of their own distinct portions of the brain. The eagle's consciousness had firm control of what Cass sensed to be Adamsprite's instinctive urges and bodily impulses—Sigmund Freud referred to this part of the psyche as the 'id', which contained all the bodily functions already present at birth, including aggression and the sex drive. The consciousness of Adamsprite's boy half, on the other hand, was deeply entrenched within the emotional center of his mind. Dubbed the 'super-ego' by Freud, the emotional center was much more commonly known as the _conscience_—it was the part of psyche that was responsible for socialization. The super-ego acted as a foil to the primal cravings of the id; it used emotion, morality, judgment, and a desire to strive for perfection or some other higher purpose to restrain the psyche from getting carried away with its impulses.

But it was the third part of consciousness, the 'ego', that was truly the keystone for the entire psyche. The ego was the mediator between the id and the outside world—if someone were to act purely from their id, they would seek to satisfy their cravings the very moment they appeared, regardless of how many rules it had to break. But before the id can get too carried away, the ego steps in; it was the ego's job to satisfy the cravings of the id, only it would also reconcile those impulses with the limitations of the real world. Ultimately, the ego will satisfy the id in a way that is both realistic enough to benefit the psyche in the long term, as well as logical enough to avoid unnecessary consequences. When she tried to explain these ideas to others, Cass used the example of a customer in a convenience store who suddenly finds himself wanting a snickers bar. He considers pocketing the snickers bar then and there, but ultimately decides to wait until after he pays for it before enjoying it. A passerby sees this happen and is struck by an identical urge for a snickers bar...only the passerby goes ahead and takes the snickers bar, and then leaves without paying for it. Both customers were functioning through their ego, but were also drawing from and acting upon opposite influences from the rest of the psyche. The customer and the passerby both had the same urge for a snickers bar from their id, and they both processed that urge in the intellectual center, weighing the pros and cons before coming to a decision. The passerby who stole the snickers bar chose to follow the influence of his id, which wanted that snickers craving to be satisfied post-haste. His ego then found a way to rationalize the theft, allowing the passerby to act on his initial impulse and steal the candy bar, thus experiencing a more immediate form of fulfillment.

Cass liked to view the id as a miniature Charlie Sheen dressed up like a devil, perched on the shoulder of the ego, always trying to convince it to give into its bodily urges and impulses. She would then view the opposing super-ego as a miniature Nicolas Cage on the ego's other shoulder, dressed like an angel; always trying to get the ego to do the right thing, act appropriately, cautioning it from making choices that would compromise one's morals. But the ego...the ego was the great variable, the ultimate deciding factor. The ego would be the actual person, the poor schmuck in the middle whom the tiny Sheen-devil and Cage-angel are trying to influence; in the end, it would be the ego that chose whether or not it wanted to listen to its urges or its conscience. The first customer, upon processing his urge to have a snickers, decided to listen to his conscience—he put the id's initial impulse on the 'back-burner', as it were, not to be satisfied until later, when he left the store. Shoplifting was against the law, and theft was against the customer's morals, so he chose to listen to his conscience and pay for the candy bar—this may have delayed the immediate fulfillment that the id would have provided...but choosing to pay for the bar would benefit him in the long run by ensuring he did not get arrested, as well as leaving his morals intact.

The point of all this was that, with a few wild exceptions, people are socialized to the point where they are no longer really able act solely out of impulse, without having it first be triggered by reflex; there's always some form of processing, decision-making, and rationalization that occurs in the higher thinking center, or ego, after those impulses make themselves known within the id—if this weren't true, people spontaneously dropping everything and trying to have sex wherever they were when their libido happened to increase, or people eating old gum off of railings whenever they felt a pang of hunger, would be common occurrences. A healthy psychological equilibrium comprised of a good balance between the id, which fueled the ego, and the super-ego, which kept the ego in check. When one of those balancing forces fluctuated, the other would have to step in and take up the slack. And while the state of Adamsprite's mind was being dangerously worsened by these two balancing forces...the underlying problem was what had originally caused the sprite boy's conscience and instincts to start trying to destroy each other.

"What are you…?" Adamsprite started to ask the girl as she touched his hair and forehead, but his voice trailed off as he felt the effects of her touch. Tension dissipated from all over his body, including from several spots where he hadn't even known muscles existed. The stress from sharing his most traumatic memories…he could actually feel it lessening. His turbulent emotions calmed down, settled, no longer threatened to drown out even his own thoughts.

Since his prototyping, Adamsprite had been locked in a constant mental grapple with the consciousness of the eagle—at Cass's strange touch, however, even the rebellious avian presence in Adamsprite's head had ceased its endless struggle against the boy's mind, finally growing still, tranquil. The relief was almost beyond the sprite's ability to describe—it felt like Adamsprite had had cotton balls stuffed into his ears while standing in a small room surrounded by a thousand TVs, all with their volume jacked up really high. But now, the cotton balls had been removed from his ears, the TVs silenced.

For the very first time in weeks, from his point of view, Adamsprite was finally able to experience relaxation. It was a level of peace he realized he hadn't felt since before his revival, back when he was still stuck in the dream bubble. But he wasn't able to relax all the way—those last memories were all that stood in his way.

"Don't stop talking," Cass encouraged Adamsprite, keeping her hands in place, not breaking her focus. "You need to face it all."

Cass was actually trying to actively fix the problem, now. From what she saw and felt, Cass was quickly piecing together what had happened.

Upon merging with the eagle consciousness and fighting for control of their shared body, Cass was fairly certain that the avian consciousness's way of trying to get Adamsprite to abandon the intellectual center was by seizing control of the brain functions related to the instinctive behaviors of the id, and then completely flooding the whole system with all kinds of signals, impulses, and drives. It would be enough to drive anyone mad, unable to even hear your own thoughts over the deafening, confusing, jumbled urges of a malfunctioning, misfiring id, threatened by the possibility of being overwhelmed and swept away. And so, facing a complete collapse of sanity at the hands of the eagle's id-driven attacks, Adamsprite had done the one thing he could to save himself. He fled from the instincts and took refuge within his conscience—the one place that was unaffected by id, as well as the one place the eagle could not really hurt him.

And so, with both id and super-ego now under tight control, the ego—being connected to both the higher and lower centers—became the place where Adamsprite and the eagle would always be fighting each other for control. Both consciousnesses, Boy and Bird, had been dueling each other in a bitter, perpetual struggle for control of the higher thinking center, but neither of them were ever able to fully succeed. The sprite boy's higher thinking center had already been weakened by the rival consciousnesses' erratic manipulations of their own specific brain functions, throwing off the balance that was maintained between instinct and conscience. And once they decided to turn the ego into their own personal psychological battlefield...

The ego was in ruins, prevented from healing by the eagle's relentless attempts to wrest it away, as well as Adamsprite's staunch refusal to yield. But by now, Cass had managed to get the attention of both consciousnesses, temporarily halting their struggle. She centered her focus on the gravely-wounded ego. Letting her compulsion do the work, Cass went to work, rerouting that mysterious psionic energy from other places—including the two consciousnesses—in order to begin the healing process of the central part of the sprite's psyche. Already, she was beginning to sense the effects; broken energy paths were reconnecting themselves, misfiring neurons were no longer receiving conflicting orders, and signals being sent out right now were no longer ending up on the wrong pathways.

Adamsprite took another deep breath. Now, as he spoke, his voice was lighter, less shaky. His eyes were still welling up, but he was no longer crying uncontrollably. "When you told me I was dead... You did a really good job at explaining the situation to me, actually; I just wasn't really able to wrap my mind around it, you know? Telling someone their entire life has been an illusion and that all their memories belong to someone else…it's pretty heavy stuff. I didn't actually believe you until I was revived…"

Adamsprite found he was able to focus on the last memories without feeling too much anxiety, now that Cass was doing whatever she was doing to his mind. The memories were still quite unpleasant…but they no longer threatened to send him back over the edge and land him in the nuthouse when he actively thought about them. The pain was no longer quite so sharp…the sprite could actually feel it ebbing away.

The sprite boy described to Cass what it had felt like to be dragged back to life, the agony he'd suffered as his consciousness was merged with that of the eagle. "I don't think I can even describe how it felt," Adamsprite declared, trying to convey the frenzied, chaotic sensations into words. Insanity was difficult to translate. "Imagine yourself being the first thing you see when you wake up. Not a mirror reflection, or anything like that; I mean _you_. Then you look down at yourself, and you realize that your body is all wrong. You're floating, you have no legs, you look more bird than human from the neck down. And then it dawns on you…your sprite? Your psychopathic sprite who went nuts and tried to kill you when he was accidentally created? When you realize that, all along, that sprite was…was…was _you_… Now…now _you're_ the abomination…"

Cass felt the pain within her sprite companion's wounded psyche flare back up, threatened to boil over and ruin the stillness that had fallen over Adamsprite's mindscape. The main problem getting in the way of faster healing was the memory center—all those memories Adamsprite had chosen to gloss over and forget about had created a blockage, to Cass's dismay. And unfortunately, that blockage was keeping any subsequent experiences of his from being 'released' properly, and integrated—as long as he continued to hide from those backlogged memories, he would never be able to grow out of their shadow. They would never leave him. But he had nearly done it—facing all those memories had started the process of clearing the energy blockage, but there were still a few more that kept the blockage from breaking free.

"Easy, _easy…_" Cass hummed quietly, shifting her focus to the sprite boy's 'third eye', in the middle of his forehead, which she still had her thumb pressed against. She started to nudge the most stubborn parts of the blockage, loosening it just enough to help Adamsprite along. "You're so close, now; don't push yourself too hard. _But don't stop…_"

The peaceful stillness settled back over Adamsprite's mind, allowing the sprite to finish. He tried to describe what it was like to share a mind with an eagle, of how the consciousness of his bird half would battle him for control of their body. Cass had spent some quality time rummaging around his mind, but she still could not believe just how much the sprite had truly been through. Take the unimaginable strain of riding mental copilot with a rebellious eagle, combine it with the emotional hurricane of enduring a violent death and an equally traumatic revival, _supersize_ it all with a profound loss of one's perception of self and reality…top it all off with the fact that Adamsprite hadn't even been able to remember his own name throughout the entire ordeal…

That was why Cass knew she had to make sure the sprite boy's ego healed. The ego had two other functions that formed the very fabric of one's life. The first of those two functions was that the ego served as the mind's link to the real world. Everything that is perceived by the five senses is processed through the ego. Organized thought, rationalization, memory, creativity, imagination—all processed through ego. The ego is where someone's grasp on reality stems from. The second of the two fundamental functions is that the ego is also responsible for conscious awareness—that is to say, a person's awareness of his own existence comes from the intellectually-based ego.

In Adamsprite's case, Cass believed that his temporary loss of sanity—his critical identity crisis and inability to be certain of what was real and what was not—had been due to a failure of the ego. But then the sprite boy had somehow managed to pull his shattered psyche back together through sheer force of will. And even so, with all the subsequent damage the ego had taken during the civil war that had been raging in his head...Cass was simply amazed that Adamsprite was still able to mentally function at all. He'd certainly lasted far longed than what should have been humanly possible.

_May be a basket case of a sprite, but he's definitely still a Knight,_ Cass noted silently to herself.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Adam," Cass said to her adopted spirit guide, still touching the sprite's forehead and cranium, hunched over in concentration. Cass noticed that she now felt as if she were speaking her own words freely, rather than simply acting as a surrogate larynx for whatever was causing her clearly-unnatural, clairvoyant healing compulsion. There was not so much unstable energy left in him—Cass noted how Adamsprite no longer had an episode when she resumed calling him 'Adam'.

"Eh… I guess you don't really have anything to be sorry for," Adamsprite sighed, wiping his eyes dry with the soft, wispy down feathers that now grew from his forearms like a layer of fur, taking care not to disturb either of Cass's hands. "It was hell, but…but if I'd been revived without your intervention? Just…just _ripped_ straight out of that lie, without being forced to see who I really was, first? I probably would've exploded, or gone brain-dead. So…yeah, I guess that's that. I know you didn't _want_ to hurt me, and…and I think I get it, now…"

And with that, the last vestiges of the blockage in the sprite boy's memory center broke free, allowing that primordial energy to flow freely through his mind. That speed up the healing process even more—Cass could already see the ego portion of the psyche settling into a new stability as its key pathways were reconnected, giving it the support it needed for being able to deal with the instincts and the conscience. Adamsprite's scars ran deep, though; he would not make a miraculous recovery overnight. But with each new day, the sprite boy's ego would continue to heal, and with it, his grip on reality and sense of self.

The last impression Cass had of Adamsprite's mind before she withdrew was that of the two consciousnesses. They were still remaining quiet, neither of them having broken the truce that Cass had forced on them... They were likely relishing in what had to be their first moment of true quiet. After dealing with that kind of turmoil nonstop, Cass imagined that being able to relax felt like absolute bliss to the sprite boy. The two consciousnesses were overlaid on top of each other. When they were fighting with each other, the boy and the bird seemed blurry, like they were two slides that complemented each other, but were out of focus. Now, that blurriness had subsided, revealing the two consciousnesses coexisting to a degree that neither of them had ever experienced, before.

Clearing the blockage in the memory center and fixing the severed energy pathways of the ego seemed to have had a stabilizing effect on the flow and distribution of Cass's unknown psionic energy throughout the sprite's entire body. Perhaps it was completely unrelated, but very last thing Cass noticed before she withdrew was that the two consciousness were no longer operating on vastly different frequencies. They were not quite in tune, yet...but the Bird and the Boy had both moved towards each other. Yes, the healing had most definitely begun...

The image of Cass's echeladder popped up in the back of her mind, interrupting her train of thought. She'd seen it several times, had learned that it seemed to monitor her fighting prowess—it first appeared as a ladder of dark rungs, the bottommost rung shining with light; the more underlings Cass killed, the more rungs she unlocked on her echeladder, climbing higher each time. But now…at least _half_ the once-dark rungs were pulsing brightly with multicolored light. Whatever she'd accomplished...well, it must have been _big_.

According to her echeladder, Cass was now a _Soul Doctor_. It was one of the less ridiculous level titles on the ladder, and Cass was surprised to find that she actually did not mind it. But she did not pay too much heed to the echeladder, focusing instead on observing Adamsprite, trying to see if there was any noticeable change in the ethereal boy from her...whatever she'd just done. _Something_ obviously had to have happened, otherwise her echeladder wouldn't have gotten a boost. Had it been a Sylph of Death related thing she'd done? Was the psionic energy Cass had been working with...did it relate to the Death Aspect, somehow?

Had she just cured insanity?

Adamsprite's eyes were the only thing that Cass noticed any real difference in, appearance-wise. The sadness was still there, the bitterness as well…but the bitterness at least seemed to have softened, lost some of its venom. And there was a light to them, now—a very faint spark that had not been there before. And he _felt_ different, too… It was not as easy for Cass to continue 'sensing' the energies of the sprite boy's consciousness, now that the drive of the Sylph's compulsion had lifted, but she could still get an accurate feel for the overall state the sprite boy's mental health was in. His mind still felt fractured, wounded to Cass, but…but she could sense that it had finally calmed down. Boy and Bird were no longer chafing against each other like unsteady tectonic plates.

As for Cass…well, she felt exhausted, like she'd just gone for a lengthy run. Shaking her head once, slowly, she took a deep breath, thought back on what had just happened. She hadn't _meant_ to pry so deep—all she'd wanted was to break the silence! Then she found herself pressing Adamsprite harder and harder, unable to relent even when she wanted to... Even if the objective of Cass's compulsion was to heal, which was a very altruistic objective...it still unnerved her, when she thought about it, the methods her Aspect was willing to use in order to achieve that objective. Yes, pain had to be faced before it could be released, but...but Cass really had no desire to be the one making people face it.

Cass let her hands drop to her sides, sat down, rested back against the tree branch she'd been sitting at earlier. She blinked several times as another wave of weariness hit her. Her heart fluttered in her chest a couple times. Lifting one of her hands from her sides, Cass observed how pale her skin had gotten. Her fingernails were a light shade of purple, and she could not hold her hand flat without having it tremble.

"You look like you just worked a twelve hour shift...twice," Adamsprite observed, bringing Cass back to her senses. Surprise was the first thing Cass felt—she had not been expecting the wayward spirit guide to talk again for a while. The sprite blinked once, still staring squarely at the teenage girl. "That wasn't all you, was it?"

"What?"

"You did something to me, Cass; I feel…" Adamsprite hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I feel different. The eagle, all the sprite shit…it's finally calmed down, and… Well, let's just say I haven't even been able to hear my own voice in my head until now. That shit doesn't happen on its own. No, you did something to me… It was Sylph-related, wasn't it. Healing, right? You healed me?"

"Yeah, I… I think so." Cass nodded in reply. "I didn't want to hurt you, I wanted to stop, but I…" she shook her head again, haplessly, "…I couldn't. I'm sorry."

Adamsprite now, for the first time, felt a twinge of something as he looked at Cass. He could tell she was trying to hold back tears. Not wanting her to go on feeling the way she was feeling, he decided to try and lighten the mood. "Eh… Fuck it." The spritified boy snorted, giving a shrug, absentmindedly scratching his elbow, where a tuft of tiny red sprite-energy feathers grew. "Digging up and dealing with painful shit in exchange for some peace and fucking quiet in my damn head? Totally worth it. Now please, dear god, don't start crying. I can't handle crying."

A chuckle escaped from Cass as the lump in her throat finally started to subside, mostly due to the fact that she had just seen a brief flicker of the Adam she knew in the sprite. Perhaps Adam and Adamsprite weren't so different after all…

"I guess you're probably too tired to keep going," Adamsprite said, noting how exhausted Cass now looked. He doubted she was capable of fighting off and outrunning the underling swarms in her current state.

"I…yeah," Cass was hesitant to admit that she didn't feel like she could continue, but she knew that going on like this would put both of them in danger. "Whatever I did, it made me really tired, and…" she paused momentarily for a yawn, already feeling her eyelids drooping, "…and I just need… I just need some…" another yawn, "…some sleep…"

I watched Cass as she literally fell asleep midsentence. She was still mumbling unintelligibly as her eyes closed. Within seconds, her mumbling had been replaced by slow breathing. She was out colder than a college freshman after a festive Thirsty Thursday.

I gazed over at Cass while she slept. No, I wasn't being pervy, if that's what you're thinking. I was pensive, deep in thought…more within my own mind than on this tree branch. That was the wonderful thing; I was now able to get lost in my own thoughts like I always used to without having the consciousness of an eagle suddenly hijacking our mutually-shared body. I could hear myself think without having to sort out which thoughts were mine, and which were the eagle's impulses.

I was free.

It occurred to me as I glanced over at Cass that this was the first time I'd ever really met her. I mean…yeah, technically I'd already met her when she party-crashed my dream bubble and made me go full lucid, but… I didn't really count that. That Cass had been different—unemotional, detached… I guess I couldn't really pass judgment until I knew more of the story. She told me she'd been hunting down my dream bubble for a long time, and that it had taken her even longer than that to gain access to it.

Cass had been a fully realized Sylph, then, obviously managing to reach the god tier somehow beforehand. And as a god tier, Cass would have been immortal…so it then begged the question: just how long had she been stuck traveling through the Furthest Ring? Seeing as how time and space do not matter in the Furthest Ring, I guess that's a question that really can't be answered.

It was the growling in my stomach that brought me back to full awareness. Yeah, in case you were wondering; being forcibly reincarnated as an energy creature apparently doesn't exempt you from needing to eat, drink, sleep, and breathe. I still needed to do all those things. I'm not complaining because it reminded me of a time when I was fully human, but it just surprised me—I'd never known that sprites were still subject to the needs of the flesh until I went and fucking _became_ one.

But yeah, anyway… Growling stomach, not okay. Time to do something about that.

I got back up onto my feet, and—no, scratch that. Keep forgetting I don't have legs, anymore… I floated up from my resting spot. Casting one last glance over at Cass, I 'jumped' off the giant tree limb.

Sprites naturally have the ability to fly and float in midair, which is good considering our overall lack of a lower body. This would normally have made my wings redundant and unnecessary, but I found that I was able to sort of 'turn off' my resistance to gravity and enter into free fall when I chose, allowing me to truly use my wings to their full potential. I preferred flying with my wings, avian-style—it was faster, it felt fucking _awesome,_ and it was the one thing the Eagle and I have ever been able to do together without battling each other. At least, without battling each other quite as fiercely as we usually did...this was the first actual time we'd flown together, as one.

I did not close my eyes, watched the ground rush up from below as I jumped from the high bough. Then I flared my wings, stretching them to their full span. A surge of adrenaline coursed through my muscles as I forced my wings to give a powerful flap, arresting my fall and propelling me forward into a glide, nearly skimming the top of the ground—I'd cut it pretty close, this time. A second flap increased my speed and gained me some altitude.

No longer in danger of getting caught by the foliage on the jungle floor, I found myself already rolling into a leftward bank, barely avoiding crashing into another giant tree. I'd only just gotten clear of that tree when I threw myself to the opposite direction, angling upwards now—the tree I'd avoided had been part of a large grove, and my rightward turn ensured that I did not splatter against the rest of the giant behemoths.

I guess I'm taking a little too much credit when I say _I_ did all those things. The only reason I was able to do these crazy avian-style antics was because the Eagle was working with me. It was a bird; flying wasn't even second nature to it—it was _first_ nature. In a way, we were copiloting the same body—it kept us flying and aware, while I continued to manage the higher thinking centers of our shared mind during flight.

After a third wingbeat, I shot up through the treetops, breathing in deep through my nostrils as I took to the open skies. The skaialight felt warm on my face, and my body seemed to draw energy from it. There were thunderstorms close by—I could not see or hear them, but I could sense their charge in the air, could feel the changing patterns in the wind currents that they caused. The sky was clear and sunny right now, but I knew that would not be the case for long. Unlike the Land of Rain and Rivers, where the rainstorms were almost a constant factor of life there, the Land of Thunder and Dwarves had a much more capricious weather system—it could be beautiful and clear one moment, then within half an hour a giant storm system could roll through and pound the area.

Whenever I flew, it was a cause for joy. I was even able to mostly forget that I barely had a body, anymore, whenever I took to the skies. Feeling wind against my face, sensing all the shifting air currents and knowing instinctively when to follow them, and when to avoid them. The Eagle stirred slightly, affected by my joy. I think it was probably confused—even if it knew what joy was, the Eagle probably wasn't going to feel overjoyed to be flying anymore than I would when I'm just driving a car.

The jungle below spread in almost every direction as far as the eye could see—a brilliant, natural carpet of vibrant green and orange—save for the 'west'. To the west, I could see the thick jungle actually beginning to thin, becoming much more savanna-like in the far distance. Vast stretches of yellow grass, rolling like gentle ocean waves in the wind. And not far in that direction was a small mountain of glittering orange stone, rising up from a collection of hills that sat not far from where the jungle thinned out.

A twinge of uneasiness took root in my gut. There'd been something I thought I'd seen, a dark shape… It had appeared briefly from behind the mountain, turned around, dove back down out of view… It had been so fast it could have been my imagination. But the unease remained…

Perhaps some investigation was in order. And besides, a mountain like that could provide me with some fruitful hunting grounds—I've been hunting small animals to keep Cass and myself fed for the past five days, but the jungle never offered me very much. This mountain was certainly worth checking out. Hell, I dunno where all this energy was coming from... I guess I was just glad to be on my way back to being one hundred percent.

I soared over the jungle, watching the treetops zoom past in an emerald blur. The air smelled of ozone. As the orange mountain drew nearer and nearer, the twinge of unease morphed into full-on hostility—before I even knew it, I was baring my talons and getting ready for battle. The Eagle was obviously spooked by something…

Sounds were beginning to drift into my range of hearing—snatches of shouting and screams, the discharge of weapons, the clash of metal… As the mountain grew close, I banked off to the left, gliding into a wide, gentle arc around the mountain's southern face. Whatever was going on, it was happening on the far side.

As the western face of the mountain came into view, I was able to spot a town below. The best way to describe that town would be 'medium-sized'—it was too large to be considered a mere village, but not nearly large enough to be a city. It was a comfortable-sized town; buildings of stone, brick, and wood, an open square in the center…but its most telling features were the thick stone walls that surrounded it, and the multitude of towers that lined those walls.

Small figures were running this way and that in the town below—manning their posts on the walls and towers, taking shelter in the buildings, etc. Smoke was rising from the town as other residents struggled to put out fires. And from above…

Those 'dark shapes' I'd spotted from afar, sure as snow falls in the winter, were underlings. Wyrms, to be exact—the giant, hulking, scaly, clawed, toothy, fire-breathing bigger cousins to the winged basilisks. They were attacking the town below, setting fire to the buildings and surrounding fields. These were the same species of shitstains who'd nearly charbroiled me on Cass's rooftop, back when I'd…well… You know the story, by now. They'd gotten the better of me five days ago because I was slightly insane at the time and hell-bent on tearing Cass's throat out.

Not being sane while attempting to tear someone else's throat out tends to dull one's overall level of awareness in a fight, somewhat. But not this time. This time, the Eagle and I were working together.

My vision focused in on the winged underling shitstains. I bared my teeth, opened my mouth wide, let out an angry, inhuman screech at the Eagle's behest. Vestiges of a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as several of the wyrms heard my challenge, breaking off from the attack on the village below and wheeling about to intercept me.

Small motes of flame curled around my hands and fingers/talons as I drew a short blade of crackling red sprite energy out of thin air, leveling it at my soon-to-be-deceased opponents.

I hope those wyrms are ready for a rematch, because _I_ sure as fuck am.


	59. V Chapter 59: Best of Both Worlds

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Best of Both Worlds

_Tenzin-lama, I will defer to your wisdom, as always, but I believe the creature should undergo the Second Birth._

The voice of Sifu Indira still rang with perfect clarity in Theo's mind, uttering the words that had condemned him. As the eighteen-year-old stared numbly down the cliff face he was standing at the edge of, gauging just how many thousands of feet the drop was, he wondered where everything had gone wrong.

All this standing-at-the-edge-of-a-cliff business was supposed to have happened two days ago, just the morning after Theo had been brought before the Council of Masters.

The pterodactyl-consorts of the Land of Fog and Shadow lived in a caste-based society; Theo did not need to do very much observing to come to that conclusion. The four castes were quite simplistically known as the Warriors, the Scholars, the Artisans, and the Intellectuals; each caste representing the chosen life path of its members, comprising of a variety of smaller guilds. As each caste fulfilled a function in the Eyrie, each guild served a unique purpose in its parent caste—the Artisan caste, for example, was composed of the Musician's Guild, the Chef's Guild, the Builder's Guild, the Craftsman's Guild, and several others; all sharing a common caste due to their respective works being very tangible forms of art, expressed through any of the five senses.

Though the four castes had their own governing council of Guildmasters, members of _all_ related guilds would—by popular vote—choose a worthy adept to take the title of Sifu and represent their caste on the Council of Masters. The four councilmasters had an equal voice in guiding their society, but even they ultimately deferred to the advice of the Council's fifth member, the lama, who was considered to be the wisest among the elders of the Eyrie. Similar to how the councilmasters were chosen by popular support from all their guilds, the lama is chosen by popular support from all four castes.

It had been Sifu Indira, the warrior-caste councilmaster, who had made the suggestion to Tenzin-_lama_ that Theo prove his claim to be the Thane true. Theo would have to complete a rite passage that all consorts had to survive at a very young age. Before he could learn about what it was, however, a colossal super-swarm of wyrm underlings migrating towards the sea passed through the skies close to Whiterock Eyrie, prompting the warrior caste to declare a state of High Vigilance for two days, delaying Theo's 'Second Birth' trial until…well, this very moment.

So where had he gone wrong?

For the life of him, Theo could not really answer that question.

Theo's assigned escort during his time in Whiterock Eyrie had been Gyaltsen—the pale blue-skinned pterodactyl who had found and rescued Theo from the underling swarms in the forest. Gyaltsen seemed to have a deep enjoyment of teaching Theo more and more about the Eyrie; Theo learned a lot during the two days he spent stuck in Whiterock Eyrie because of the High Vigilance.

Gyaltsen was a member of the Warrior caste, though Theo learned the importance of knowing someone's guild when he mistakenly assumed his escort to be a member of the Eyrie Watch. The light blue-skinned pterodactyl was part of the Hunter's Guild—his task was to venture far from the Eyrie into dangerous wilderness, where he would hunt down and kill small groups of ogre and gicyclops underlings, bringing them back to the Eyrie as food.

Bringing food back to the Eyrie was the primary mission of the hunters, but their toils benefited many other guilds from all castes. The tusks from the larger underlings, for example, were popular among warriors as knives, among artisans as crafting tools and artistic projects, among the scholars as writing implements when filed down, and among the intellectuals for the simple purpose of decoration. And in times of conflict, hunters were commonly used as scouts by the warriors—it was a humble guild, but one of the most important.

Considering Gyaltsen's enthusiastic efforts toward educating Theo about Whiterock Eyrie and it inhabitants, the teenager could not help but wonder why the hunter had not chosen to follow the path of the Intellectual Caste, which specialized in knowledge and energy. The hunter was quiet and withdrawn when in the presence of others, rarely speaking up to voice his own opinions…but when he was alone with Theo, his intelligence began to shine through.

Gyaltsen had been the one to explain to Theo that the 'Second Birth' was not necessarily a 'trial' for his people—it was a rite of passage that young ptero-consorts had to pass in order to survive, almost like a human baby having to take its first breath. Before young ptero-consorts' arm-wings developed the strength required to sustain flight, Gyaltsen said that they would '_take to the skies_' and be forced to connect with the energy of the Breath Aspect in order to fly.

Theo had assumed that Gyaltsen had meant that a ptero-consort would not survive in a world like this without the ability to invoke Breath, requiring it to go through the Second Birth in order to expose it to Breath at an early, instinct-driven age. Therefore, Theo figured his own rite of passage would require him to invoke Breath all by himself. And while all this was technically true…Theo found out that Gyaltsen had been speaking with a much more literal meaning.

Theo would have to unlock his abilities as a Thane of Breath, or he would die.

"I hope you are ready, outsider." That voice… Sifu Indira's voice spoke to Theo again, only this time it was not a memory. She was standing behind him, somewhere, come to observe the Second Birth along with the rest of the Council of Masters. "Send him on his way, Gyaltsen-hunter."

The softspoken hunter acknowledged the warrior-caste Sifu's order with a nod, stepping around Chodak, the ill-tempered, heavily-muscled, red-skinned brute who served as Captain of the Eyrie Watch. He fluttered forward to the edge of the cliff, lighting back on his knobby, sinewy legs and walking the last few paces up to where Theo was standing.

"When you explained this to me, I think you left out a few key bits," Theo murmured over to Gyaltsen, trying to keep his voice calm even as his heart rate continued to increase. He could feel sweat breaking out on his neck and forehead as he continued to stare downwards past his feet. "I don't suppose you're here to rescue me again?"

Gyaltsen said nothing in reply, initially, looking straight at Theo until the teenage boy met his gaze. When he had eye contact with Theo, in a very quiet voice so that no one else could hear, Gyaltsen asked a single question. "_Are you truly the Thane, like you said?_"

Theo Gibbons could be described as many things, but a 'good liar' was not one of them. Gyaltsen had correctly been able to come to that conclusion, and so he looked now for any signs of dishonesty, however slight, that would give themselves away in his answer.

It was a difficult question for Theo to answer. Sure, Deltasprite had told him that he was the Thane of Breath, but what did that even mean? Theo didn't feel any different. How can someone strongly believe themselves to be a hero of legend when they only just found out about it five or so days ago? Theo's answer reflected his inner doubts: "I… Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"_You think so, or you_ know_ so,_" Gyaltsen pressed, not satisfied with the weakness in Theo's response.

Theo now found himself at a loss for words; latent doubts now coming out of the shadows into the limelight, the dizzying vertigo of standing at the edge of a mountainside, and, deepest down of all, a low self-esteem were working together to keep Theo from calming down and centering himself. Gyaltsen seemed to sense this on some level, prompting him to try and give Theo some last-minute help.

"I… I…" Theo started to stammer, but he was immediately cut off by Sifu Indira.

"Enough delay, Gyaltsen-hunter!" the warrior-caste Sifu called down from the high ledge where the Council of Masters had gathered to watch Theo's Second Birth. "Be done with it-"

"Patience, Sifu Indira," the soft, jovial tones of Tenzin-_lama_ were spoken in his normal, subdued volume…and yet, everyone could hear his words just as clearly as Indira's powerful, commanding voice. "It is not natural for a creature to undergo the Second Birth this late in its lifetime. The Evening Cliffs seem much taller when one stands upon their edge than when one glimpses it from the sky—to a creature without connection to Breath, this might come across as terrifying. Give him a moment to prepare."

"If the outsider is the Thane, then he already possesses a strong connection to Breath," Sifu Indira muttered in reply, though her tone gave away that she had already deferred to the lama's wisdom. It was simply in her nature to argue and to challenge, part of what led to her becoming one of the most influential members of the Warrior Caste.

"You would be correct, but only in that the creature _possesses_ a connection to Breath," Tenzin reminded Indira. "His connection, unfortunately, is still mostly dormant, as it is in all of us before we underwent our own Second Births. He must be awakened…"

While Tenzin-_lama_ and Sifu Indira conversed, Gyaltsen took advantage of the temporary distraction to speak to Theo one last time, to try and ensure he was able to meet the imminent challenge and come out on top.

"If you speak the truth, if you truly are the Thane…then you have nothing to fear," Gyaltsen said quietly to Theo as he stepped back from the edge of the cliff, moving behind the teenager, still speaking softly enough for no one else to hear him. The Council of Masters had fallen silent by now—all attention was once again focused on Theo. Gyaltsen continued to speak, quietly murmuring, "Our Breath is a part of us, its energy within us. It is not a power of the mind; therefore, it is not through your thoughts that you can access it. You embody Breath only through your acceptance of it. If you are truly the Thane, then still your thoughts and _own_ that truth. Know that this is a trial that you can pass—this confidence, alone, will suffice."

Gyaltsen hesitated for a moment, leaned in close to Theo's left ear, whispered, "_Come back to us, Thane. We need you._"

There was a single moment of clear, pure, and total silence that Theo experienced immediately after Gyaltsen's parting words. He felt as if Adam Sandler had hit the 'pause' or 'mute' button on the reality-altering remote from that one movie he was in. His thoughts no longer churning like a maelstrom during that brief moment, Theo not only heard the gentle whispers of the wind, but he also began to _feel_ it-

The shove was quick, concentrated on his upper back, between the shoulder blades. All Theo could do was blink as he was propelled forward, his eyes opening once again to an upside-down view through his legs of the edge of the Evening Cliffs, bathed in the subdued red, orange, and purple light of Skaiaset. The light of the Skaiaset appeared more as an omnipresent, ambient glow because it was heavily refracted through the Veil.

There were no truly clear days in LOFAS because the Veil of fog hung a little bit higher than cloud-level and it obscured the sky of the entire planet, save for two places that were tall enough to penetrate it—the ruins of the Great Eyrie, which Theo had not had the time to ask Gyaltsen about, and Theo's upwardly-expanded house. The planet's wind kept the equilibrium of the Veil in a state of constant flux, however, and this would result in the fog being thinner on some days and denser on others—a weather pattern, of sorts.

Whiterock Eyrie was a very tall mountain, but because most of the fog from the Veil was concentrated in the open sky, higher than cloud-level, it was at a higher elevation than the summits of all the mountains in LOFAS, with the sole exception of the Great Eyrie ruins. Whiterock was no exception—the summit of the Eyrie came close to touching the Veil, but fell short by a hundred feet or so.

As such, Whiterock Eyrie was never free of the obscuring fog, but the white peak had an advantage: a natural wind current that liked to 'visit' the region frequently; the powerful winds it brought were strong enough to disperse the Veil to a very thin level, allowing for today's bright Skaiaset. Being the wind, this 'friendly' current never lingered for very long, but it always seemed to come back to Whiterock Eyrie sooner or later. Its affinity for the Eyrie was well-known among its consorts, prompting many to come to the conclusion that it was much more than a simple wind current.

Theo was about to find out why.

The winds had died down considerably, growing very gentle and breeze-like as Theo was taken to the edge of the Evening Cliffs. The very moment Theo was sent over the edge, the winds grew completely still, all the air in the surrounding sky hanging, even if only for an instant, in a state of balance—no higher pressure seeking to fill the gap of lower pressure, resulting in no wind. This moment of equilibrium, however, was just that; a moment.

The wind roared back after the moment of stillness, stronger than before, and…and it _felt_ different…_familiar_…

The brief few seconds after Gyaltsen pushed Theo over the edge of the cliff felt both incredibly slow to the teenager, but were also blurry—a disjointed cacophony of images, sensations, and thoughts. It was only after Theo blinked a second time that the powerful winds suddenly arrived, tearing at his face, violently shattering the hazy silence that Theo had experienced from his shock. Yanked back to his senses, Theo's insides churned and tensed, seizing up as the teenager realized that he was now falling down a drop of over ten thousand feet, the pale rocks of the Evening Cliffs glittering in the bright westerly light of the refracted Skaiaset, blurring together as they rushed up past Theo.

During the walk from the Eyrie, down the upper ridges of the mountain's west face, to the shelf-like ledge at the top of the Evening Cliffs, Gyaltsen had made Theo fully aware of what he was about to face in his Second Birth rite of passage, finally driving home a subject Theo had been almost unconsciously skirting away from until the very end.

Like every ptero-consort who ever survived into maturity, Theo had 'taken to the skies', as Gyaltsen had previously put it. Turned out that 'taking to the skies', in this case, meant being pushed off the edge of, depending on the time of day, either the Morning Cliffs of the mountain's eastern face, or the Evening Cliffs that made up most of the mountain's western face. Both cliffs stretched from the very base of the mountain all the way up to the bottom of the mountain's upper third—the 'summit pyramid', so to speak, that served as the foundation for Whiterock Eyrie. Their height and sheer drop of over a mile made them suitable for young consorts to undergo their Second Birth.

Infant ptero-consorts underwent their Second Birth before their arm muscles really developed, preventing them from relying on their physical strength to get themselves out of danger. In this fashion, any connection made to the energy of Breath by someone as new to life as an infant would be due solely to survival instinct. Accessing that subconscious connection to Breath became instinctual to the consorts—not much different from other involuntary reflexes, like sneezing or swallowing.

And failure to connect with the Breath Aspect… Underdeveloped arm muscles did not have the strength to sustain flight; without the ability to fly, it was a long way down. It became all too clear why infant ptero-consorts would not survive their Second Birth if they failed to unlock their Breath. Down, and down, and down, and…splat.

That distant, fuzzy carpet of dark green—the canopy of the misty, bioluminescent, underling-infested forest Theo had been rescued from, the eaves of which Whiterock Eyrie was located within, trees growing even all the way up to the bottom of the Evening Cliffs, growing from the ground Theo was about to splatter into—suddenly didn't look quite so fuzzy. Theo could begin to see it in much sharper focus as it rushed up towards him.

Theo squeezed his eyes shut, concentrated as hard as he could on feeling his connection to the Breath Aspect, desperately trying to trigger or unlock his Thane of Breath powers. He focused intently on his memory of Tenzin helping him breathe through a near-fatal asthma attack, tried to remember what he'd felt when the lama had used his own Breath energy to spark Theo's. When he'd felt his connection to the Breath Aspect flicker back to life and sustain his ailing lungs, Theo had felt a profound sense of wholeness.

But now, as Theo struggled so hard to remember that feeling, how Tenzin had triggered his energy, he could not recall the sensation, too distracted from the sensory bombardment of falling to one's death. Panic started to seize his chest, and Theo found that he could not seem to take in a satisfying breath—both early signs of another asthma attack. Theo had not had an attack since the one Tenzin-_lama_ guided him through, three days ago; potentially having one while falling to his death was _not_ convenient for him at all-

_Falling to my death_… After having that specific thought multiple times, Theo finally realized on an instinctive level what was wrong, why he was failing. Despite knowing for a fact that he was, without a doubt, the Thane of Breath, Theo's fear of falling to his death meant that he still _believed_ he was going to fall to his death. That fear was blocking his connection to the Breath Aspect, and unless he dealt with it _now_…

Thane of Breath or not, Theo's attempts to connect to the energy of Breath were much more difficult than the instinct-driven reactions of an infant consort—he had the huge disadvantage of having his survival instincts hampered by his consciousness, of having to consciously connect to a primordial force; dormant powers he needed to awaken which, a week ago, Theo had not even known existed.

But then something happened to Theo just as he was about halfway to the ground. The staunch, firm breezes of the wind current that had just arrived, the same ones that had brought Theo back to reality after being pushed over the edge, breaking that moment of stillness… It lasted only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

The powerful winds all seemed to focus on Theo for a brief moment, long enough to be consciously noticed, blowing straight into him from all directions. The winds coalesced around the falling teenager, holding him aloft in mid-air for that single moment, briefly arresting his fall. Though it only lasted for a moment…when the winds gave him a helping hand, when all their collective focus was on Theo, the teenager had been able to feel their energy, somehow…

The winds' concentration on Theo ended up blowing him head-over-heels several times, until he was finally falling feet-first. Plummeting off the side of a mountain right-side-up was slightly less disorienting than plunging headfirst towards the ground, and it allowed Theo to clear his mind, the teenager still doing his best to ignore the continuing symptoms of another asthma attack.

Theo could feel the steady, enduring winds…the swirls and eddies of gentler breezes…and the few gale-force gusts—all focused on him in that single moment. He knew, then, that these were no ordinary winds. They were much more than that—powerful, primordial expressions of pure, unrestricted Breath energy. Theo could sense the raw Breath energy of the wind, and he could feel an individuality to it, almost a consciousness—the culmination of the energies of countless smaller winds.

Feeling the winds' natural energy, while it did not spark Theo's connection to Breath like it had with Tenzin-_lama,_ was still able to give Theo a 'reminder' of sorts, a faint echo of the wholeness he'd felt while freely manifesting his Aspect energy.

The echo Theo felt from all that 'wild' Breath energy acted like a ripple that spread throughout his mind. Theo suddenly found that he was now able to recall quite clearly what that sensation of 'being complete' had felt like, and when he did…the feeling took on a life of its own, coursed through his entire body and psyche.

Theo could not help but smile even as he continued to fall. Though he had not yet awakened his powers, the teenager had at least managed to gain a true awareness of their existence, and that awareness brought with it the knowledge and certainty that the energies of the Breath Aspect were within him. The realization that, as a Hero, he was a _source_ of that energy, that it was within him…

Theo found himself unable to accurately remember what it had been like to live in ignorance of this very mysterious and important part of himself. As his connection with Breath was established, Theo felt his familiar ability to sense the energies of the winds amplify exponentially, sharpening to such a heightened degree that Theo could almost physically _feel_ the Breath of each individual breeze.

_I can't fall; I'm the Thane,_ Theo thought—no, _believed_ silently to himself, his traces of doubt dissipated like evaporating water. He had made an instinctual connection to the Breath Aspect, but now he had to bring that connection to the conscious level.

The winds had a subtle, but noticeable reaction to Theo's mental declaration. Emboldened by this, a newfound confidence finally filled him, complementing the familiarity of reawakening his connection to Breath. Riding the wave of this confidence, Theo allowed his body to completely relax, and rather than voicing his thought with a shout, he quietly declared to himself, "I can't fall, I'm the fucking Thane."

Theo could not tell when exactly the first breezes started 'behaving' for him. While before, Theo could only sense the winds' energies, he was now quickly learning to exert his will over them, redirecting their forces in an upward direction even as Theo envisioned them doing so. This created a stiff updraft from the receptive winds, slowing Theo's fall considerably, and ultimately buying him enough time to remove the final traces of fear from his mind. His confidence increased even more, strengthened by his breakthroughs, and he finally allowed himself to do the only thing he could in order to survive.

Fully embracing the reality that he was the Thane of Breath, that he was much more than he gave himself credit for, that he was the stuff of legends to these consorts…finally embracing these disorienting truths gave Theo the last thing he needed to consciously invoke Breath: _resolve_.

His mind now as relaxed as his body, Theo opened his eyes once more, ignoring how quickly the ground was rushing up to greet him. Though his eyes were now open, Theo wasn't using them to 'see'—the teenager could feel the crisp, eager buzz of his Breath powers aching to be unlocked, finally exploding to life as Theo slowed his fall even further, manipulating more and more of the winds' energy currents, intending on adding their strength to his artificial updraft…but he ended up not needing to.

When Theo was able to control the winds, he made a fully conscious connection with Breath, which meant he'd basically already survived his Second Birth. He was not out of the woods yet, however—he still had to get back into the air.

Theo's entire ordeal—from Gyaltsen pushing him over the edge to the successful awakening of his Breath powers—had only lasted about nine or ten seconds, but it felt more like an hour to the teenager. Nine seconds of free-fall until Theo was able to, on the fly, manifest his Aspect to arrest his fall and save his life. The teenage boy felt some measure of pride in that as he released his artificial updraft. He now generated his own winds to keep himself aloft, weaving his way between the pre-existing wind currents.

This grew easier when Theo 'flew' faster—generating enough wind to sustain a solid momentum, guided by the natural wind currents, took much less energy than continuing to fuel the updraft by bending the winds to his will—the winds seemed to enjoy being worked with, but they did _not_ like being commanded. As Theo slowed down, nearing the shelf at the top of the Evening Cliffs, his momentum was lost, and he had to expend large amounts of energy blasting winds of his own that were powerful enough to get him safely back onto the ground.

But then, finally, Theo felt the soles of his sneakers touch down on rock-solid ground…and even as the relief flooded through his body, the surge of adrenaline that sustained him throughout the fall wore off, making Theo feel almost hollow with sudden exhaustion. The moment he took a step forward, towards the gathered ptero-consorts, Theo's strength failed and his legs gave out.

The teenager must have expended a good amount of energy, because the weariness he now felt was causing him to fight a futile battle against losing consciousness. He could hear the sounds of the awed ptero-consorts' voices, but could not make out the individual words. His eyelids grew so heavy, they felt like leaden weights had been tied to them. By the time his legs gave out, Theo was already half-asleep.

* * *

><p>Theo's eyes flew open to the sight of a bedroom that existed entirely in shades of indigo, but was otherwise a perfect reflection of his real bedroom. As Theo regained his bearings, he looked down at himself, noting with a confirming grunt that he was indeed wearing the crescent moon-emblazoned purple pajamas of his dream self on Derse.<p>

Theo remembered hitting the ground, and then only flashes…more unintelligible voices…a firm grip on his shoulder…and that was it. That must have been when he passed out, because that was the only explanation for why Theo was waking up as his dream self. At first, he still felt the relief at having survived his ordeal at Whiterock Eyrie…but then, he found the details of what he'd experienced would grow fuzzy, and any concern he'd felt about them would end up lifting.

Theo was dreaming. He could fly easily, now, and just let loose.

A familiar girl in identical purple Derse pajamas was the first thing Dream Theo noticed as he peered out the nearest window. It was Gwen's dream self, and she was flying past Theo's dream tower in the near distance. Excited at the prospect of finally being reunited with some of his friends, Theo floated out through the window, up into the air, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting over to Gwen.

Dream Gwen could not hear him, however. Not willing to give up the chance to see Gwen, Theo looked off in the direction she was flying. If she kept going that way, she would eventually run into…Gino's dream tower. Theo was already soaring into the sky, trying to match Gwen's speed as he pointed himself in the direction of Gino's tower. He focused on maintaining that speed for the next few minutes as they covered the sizable distance between dream towers.

As Gino's dream tower started to come into sight, Theo increased his speed and banked toward Gwen, surprising the teenage girl by flying right up beside her. "Hi, Gwen!" Theo waved over at his fellow Derse dreamer.

"_Oh._" Gwen gave a surprised start, temporarily thrown off-guard by the sudden arrival of her friend in the middle of flight. "Theo, hey… Um… Okay, this is Derse, right? The dream self place? Sorry, this is my first time waking up here, and I'm sorta new to all this!"

"Yeah, this is Derse," Theo replied, before adding, "Well, Derse's _moon,_ if you want to be technical. When you fall asleep back in the real world, you wake up here as your dream self—trust me, it's really simple to understand once you can wrap your mind around it. It's actually kinda awesome! Our dream selves can fly, and…uh…there's a whole city out there to explore."

"I already know about our dream selves, Theo," Gwen clarified to her friend before he could go on. "What I just don't get is…why _now?_ It's been five days since we got zapped here, and I haven't woken up here until tonight."

All Theo could do was shrug. "Dunno. Cruz and Adam have been dreaming on Prospit all their lives; who knows how the system works? Why were their dream selves awake before the game started? Why do we even have dream selves in the first place…?" Theo let his voice trail off, realizing that he was starting to ramble. He organized his thoughts, concluded by stating, "Haven't you gotten it, yet? The Medium is a place where any answers you get will only leave you with more questions…"

"That's true, but I would imagine that's because we have a lot to learn," Gwen surmised, Theo's last words still ringing in her ears. Feeling strangely inspired by them, Gwen continued to speak, her word surprising her even as she heard herself saying them. "Skaia's biggest mystery is its purpose. But a mystery is simply undiscovered knowledge; and I can _feel_ that knowledge, humming out there in the dark…but I can't find it… Sorry," she apologized, shaking her head to return to her senses. She realized that they had stopped flying, were instead merely hovering in the sky above a dark street. Gino's dream tower loomed nearby. "Sorry, I must sound crazy…"

"You're apologizing for sounding crazy while you're floating in the sky of a purple city-moon, dreaming consciously in a _different body,_" Theo chuckled, pointing Gwen's attention back to the absurdity of where they currently were. "It, uh… You mentioned being able to, uh…_feel_ knowledge? Did it feel like kind of a, you know, like a sixth sense?"

Gwen nodded in reply. "That's exactly what it feels like. A sixth sense… There's got to be an infinite number of ways for someone to arrive at an answer—an infinite number of different questions, different inspirations, expressions, and actions; it all sort of forms a pathway as someone gets closer to the answer. And I feel like I can sense which of those 'pathways' is the best one to follow…and yeah, that's kind of why I thought I was sounding crazy."

Another quiet laugh from Theo. "No, I totally understand," the floating boy reassured Gwen. "Pretty sure it's just your Light powers starting to shine through. If you think that's weird, then watch _this_." Theo raised his hand to the side, away from Gwen, focusing on his Breath, and was surprised when a sudden gust of gale-force wind was blasted in the direction of his raised hand, almost sending him flying through the air in the opposite direction.

That wind had been much more powerful than what he'd intended, sounding almost like a sonic boom from its sudden acceleration, echoes of it still jumping between buildings. "_Damn,_" Theo swore, lowering his hand, flexing his fingers several times. "Easy to do this while dreaming, apparently…"

Gwen's expression had not changed much when she watched Theo create his own wind—her eyebrows, on the other hand, had shot straight up. "Yeah, uh…well… Okay, you can control wind. That's now a thing."

"Point being, I've got some weird powers, too. You're not alone!" Theo reminded Gwen, deciding to wait a few seconds before changing the subject, asking Gwen something he'd been wondering since he'd first seen her today. Nodding over at the looming shape of the nearby dream tower, Theo asked, "So, uh… Why've we been flyin' to Gino's tower? Nothing to see, really—his dream self is just sleeping up there."

"Dunno." Gwen could only shrug. "Like I said, I was confused. I woke up, and got this feeling that I had to come this way. It…it almost sounded like a whisper in my head, but…never mind. It was just a feeling."

Theo did not have a reply to that, couldn't think of anything to say. As the silence went on, Theo found himself observing their surroundings. Looking down, Theo noticed that they were now drifting over dilapidated, run-down structures…partially-collapsed buildings, crumbling ruins, the charred husks of burnt homes…pockmarked streets, strewn with garbage and rubble… Gino's dream tower was located within what appeared to be a giant ghetto, and it looked like a war had been fought there. Theo had never been to this part of the Obsidian Moon, before.

_Look, Heroes…_

If shadow had a sound, then the whisper that entered Theo's mind at that moment would have been it. Theo's gaze whipped back over to Gwen after he heard the whispers, but it had not been her voice he'd just heard. Still, just to be sure… Even as he looked at her, however, Gwen turned to him and asked, "Did you say that?"

"I…you…" Theo stammered, unprepared for Gwen's question…but then the implications of that question quickly dawned on him. "You heard that, too?"

"I…" Gwen looked at a loss for words, too, now. "That… Those whispers were what I heard when I woke up here… Now I remember why I wanted to fly to Gino's tower-"

Theo watched the explosion happen in slow motion. He saw the top-sphere of Gino's dream tower, silhouetted for a moment by a blinding light, fire shooting out the four windows. It was immediately blown to smithereens even before Gwen finished speaking, engulfed by a vaguely mushroom-shaped blast of flame. Theo's jaw went slack with horror, his eyes widening as he watched the flames billow outward and upward, fiery chunks of debris and masonry arcing through the sky like remnants of a volcanic eruption…

_Gino…_ Theo's thoughts were numb. He hadn't known Gino as well as some of his other friends, but watching _anyone_ die…

Gwen whipped around, seeing the ruins of the tower just moments after it had exploded, but quickly enough to notice a familiar shape hurtling through the air, blown into the sky by the explosion. Though she could not get a clear look at the object, she was nevertheless certain of what it was, and it gave her hope. "Theo, look!" Gwen pointed into the sky. "I think that's him!"

Theo was jerked out of his numbing shock by Gwen's shout. He looked away from the burning dream tower, spotted what Gwen was pointing at…and sure enough, she was right. Theo's vision wasn't spectacular, but he could easily recognize the white-trimmed violet of Dersite pajamas on the flying figure… Gwen was right; it was Gino's dream self. How…?

And that was when, much to his alarm, Theo realized that Dream Gino was not flying; he was _falling_.

"C'mon, we gotta go!" Theo was already flying off in the direction Gino was falling, grasping Gwen's arm and pulling her along until she could adjust and fly on her own. His thoughts had been whirling a moment ago, but now they were calm, focused on one thing: _get Gino_.

Rooftops and alleyways shot past below as Theo and Gwen blasted through the sky, trying their best to not lose sight of Gino. Their friend's dream self had been blown quite high into the air by the force of the explosion and was only just now beginning to plummet back toward the ground. Fortunately, due to the almost weightless nature of dream selves, Gino did not seem to be falling at terminal velocity…but the force of the blast had been massive, and at the speed he was falling, Gino was not going to have a happy landing.

Theo kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on Gino's dream self, but his friend was already less than a hundred feet from landfall. Knowing they weren't going to reach him in time, with only seconds left to spare… Theo found himself suddenly rocketing ahead of Gwen, his velocity almost tripling as he was propelled even farther forward by a strong wind that he had managed to concentrate into a narrow stream.

The teenage boy nearly splattered himself against a row of stone chimneys as he reached the target area. Like a car speeding downhill, Theo was not able to come to an abrupt stop. Thinking faster than the speed of light, Theo felt like he was acting more out of instinct when he quickly, desperately, seized greater control of his wind and wrenched it around. It took a huge effort to accomplish in such a quick moment of time, but Theo was able to change the direction of his wind so that it was now blowing _toward_ the chimney, bringing him to a halt in mid-air…

…only for Theo to be dropped, facefirst, onto the stone rooftop when Gino's dream self landed directly on top of him.

"_Oof!_" All of the air in Theo's lungs was violently forced out as he hit the stone rooftop, fortunately managing to keep his head raised away from the impact. He lay still for a moment, trying his best not to think about the bruises that had to be forming on his torso. His concentrated blast of wind had cushioned him enough so that the weight of Gino's dream self plowed him into the stone—which would have resulted in quite a few broken bones—but was not enough to make for a comfortable landing.

Still, it was pain Theo could handle, and he knew he would be able to get back up. But first, he had to get Gino's dream self off his back. Theo rolled slowly onto his side, gently depositing Dream Gino onto the stone rooftop. His lungs slowly expanded to their full capacity as he took in a deep, sweet breath—inhaling slowly so that his battered chest would not throb with pain. As he leaned down to examine Gino, Gwen finally arrived, having closed the distance put between the two teens by Theo's Breath powers. She landed on both feet gracefully, quickly kneeling down next to Gino's dream self, anxiously reaching for his neck to check for a pulse.

"_Owwwwwww_…" The groan came from Gino's mouth, and Theo's heart leaped as he watched the other boy's eyes flutter open. Rather than check for a pulse, Gwen instead cupped her hand under the clearly-alive Gino's upper neck, slowly helped him elevate his head, and then begin the process of sitting up.

"What the shit _was_ that, dude?" Theo asked Gino, the shock of the explosion still coursing through him, making him feel almost jittery. "Were you awake for all that?"

When Gino spoke, his voice was raspy, his words labored. His eyes seemed a bit unfocused, gazing off into space at times—he was likely in some form of mild shock. "I was just…just flyin'… We can fly here, y'know? And…and I ducked out one of my windows, and then everythin' gets so fuckin' _bright,_ and _hot,_ too, and…and now my ears are ringing, and… What…? What the fuck happened?"

Theo wordlessly pointed off into the near distance.

Gino had been in a daze; he had not really been looking at anything beyond the crumbling waist-high wall that surrounded the perimeter of this particular rooftop—everything had been too bright for him to get his bearings. Following where Theo was pointing, Gino's eyes watered and refocused as he squinted, glimpsing the billowing flames, now realizing what had been making it so bright.

Looking away from the aftermath of the explosion, he returned his gaze to his two fellow Derse dreamers, his mouth forming a silent '_oh_'. When he finally found words, he still had trouble getting them out; his speech was likely being affected by his shock, as well. "Was…was that… Was that my…?"

"Yeah, dude, that was your dream tower getting blown to Westeros and back that you just survived!" Theo finished Gino's thought and answered it, already understanding what the other boy was trying to ask. "Good thing you were out the window…you'd probably be toast if you hadn't gone out the window…"

"Never…woulda…guessed…thanks for…the heads-up…" Gino grumbled as he was finally able to sit back up all the way, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He had managed to put together a coherent sentence, which was in of itself a sign of recovery.

"Oh, can it." Gwen rolled her eyes, giving into her own urge. "He just saved your life by letting you _fall on him_. Don't be an asshole."

"I just survived a fuckin' _assassination attempt,_" Gino mimicked the same emphasis Gwen had put on her own words. "Pardon me for bein' a little fuckin' grouchy!" He let those words hang in the air for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to start breathing normally again. He glanced over at Theo again, told him, "Thanks for…you know…savin' my ass, and all…"

Recognizing the olive branch, Theo accepted it. "I'm sure you'd save _my_ ass, too, if it ever needed saving?"

"Okay, sure. Count on it."

With that, Theo finally rose to his feet, taking a second to steady himself as his body adjusted to being upright, allowing himself to float an inch or two up into the air. After the initial dizziness vanished, Theo drifted over to the edge of the rooftop, looking out at the sprawl of low-lying, ramshackle buildings that spread out in all directions, as well as the ragged, disheveled Dersites who were coming out of the woodworks, having heard or felt the explosion.

"_Eastvale Ghetto_…" Theo murmured to himself. He'd never been to Eastvale, before, but it had been described to him by the dissenters as a dark, forgotten place, full of forgotten people. Most of the street lights in the ghetto had been torn down and scavenged over the decades, and Theo noticed that the few that remained in place were nevertheless dark.

It would seem that Eastvale Ghetto was no longer connected to the Dersite power grid. Theo was grateful for the fact that it was still daytime—he could only imagine how dark the ghetto got after nightfall.

Sudden shouting caused Theo to whip back around, turning away from the view of the surrounding ghetto. He heard Gwen's voice exclaiming, "_Who the fuck are you?_" Theo turned around, took in the sight of two Dersites standing in the open doorway of the roof-access stairs. When had _they_ gotten here? Gwen had stepped in front of Gino, who rested back against the side of a stone chimney.

The taller Dersite was unfamiliar—he was wiry, built like a runner, wore midnight-black clothing and a likewise-colored skullcap; clearly much better prepared for trekking through a dark ghetto than his friend. The shorter Dersite, on the other hand, was slender, clad in a dark gray suit, his right eye marred by a line of scar tissue from an old wound. The Wrathful Veteran looked like he'd just run across an entire continent, judging from the ragged, torn-up state of his suit.

The Wrathful Veteran held up both hands in response to Gwen's belligerent query, trying to calm her down while the second Dersite fidgeted uncomfortably. "We are friends, Witch."

"The _fuck_ you just call me?" Gwen's attitude, so rarely seen that it was considered to be nonexistent by many, came through to the surface, exacerbated by the stress from the explosion.

"Witch of Light!" Theo interrupted, hopping onto the 'Calm Gwen Down' bandwagon. "He's calling you by your title!"

"Oh…" Gwen's hostility seemed to visibly deflate, and she looked around, as if surprised at where she was. "Sorry, I…didn't mean to… The explosion, it…I… I just don't like loud explosions, I've had bad experiences involving loud explosions…" The teenage girl's voice trailed off, still hearing the thunderous roars of the _Viridian Wind's_ gun decks echoing in her mind.

"Today has been traumatic for all of us," the Wrathful Veteran reassured her. "But today is also not quite over. We must leave Eastvale immediately, before the Enforcers arrive. I know a safe place." The shorter Dersite stepped back into the roof-access stairwell, gesturing for the three Heroes to follow him. "It would be wise of you to come with me."

Gwen still looked a little unsure. Nevertheless, she was still teetering on the fence enough to look over at Theo, a questioning eyebrow raised. "My gut instinct is to just fly out of here and forget all this, but… Do you trust this guy?"

Theo nodded without hesitation. "I do. He's on our side."

"_And, uh… I can't fly._"

Everyone looked at Gino, who had been silent until his declaration just now. He had gotten back up to his feet and was jumping into the air, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to soar into the sky like he'd just barely managed to do before the blast… But there was nothing happening. He could not fly.

"What's wrong with me, guys, why can't I fly?" Gino asked, balling his fists in frustration as his efforts continued to fail. "C'mon, what the _fuck_."

"Flying would be unwise. The only way out of this ghetto for the three of you that does not end in death or capture is with me, and we're sticking to the ground. Your condition can be addressed later, Prince," the Wrathful Veteran assured Gino. "But we must move _now_. The Black Queen will send in the Enforcers to find the Prince's body, and we need to be far away when they report a mission failure."


	60. V Chapter 60: Old Friends

Chapter Sixty: Old Friends

_Twelve_.

The Authority Regulator was silent as he counted the bodies that had been arranged in a neat row on the side of the street. Twelve dead… They had been covered with gray tarps, the victims' bodies, but the Authority Regulator had seen them already when he arrived in Eastvale. Some of the corpses looked much worse than others, but…

The Authority Regulator blinked once, gave an imperceptible shake of the head. He had endured far, _far_ worse than this while serving in the Commandos, millennia ago. Seeing friends, comrades getting blown to pieces had been commonplace on the Battlefield. But this…

"Bloody mess." The voice belonged to Arcturus, commandant of Lunar Sector Enforcement. He had already been present by the time the Regulator arrived. The high-ranking Enforcement Officer produced a cigarette from one of his jacket's inner pockets. He offered one to the Regulator, who declined. "Death count is at twelve, sir. So far, at least."

"I'm aware," the Authority Regulator replied, forcing his gaze away from the gray tarps. But that only served to provide him with the view of the wreckage. Flames still roared from the twisted, ruined remains of what had once been the Prince of Mind's tower. The explosion had been heard all over the Obsidian Moon, and with it came a shocked silence that gripped the entire moon as its citizens realized just what exactly had happened.

A Hero had been attacked. Someone had broken the Rules.

Noir would have been the Regulator's prime suspect, though the Archagent was off-world at the moment. Same with the Dignitary, of whom the Regulator was even more wary. No, it was obvious to the Regulator who was responsible, but it was also never wise to whisper about the Queen. He had no desire to experience the Silent Dungeon from an inmate's perspective, so he did not give voice to these thoughts.

"Do you have the report from forensics?" The Authority Regulator asked his subordinate, changing the subject.

Arcturus struck a match, drawing on his cigarette until the tip caught the flame and glowed cherry red. The Lunar Sector Commandant then shook his head, exhaling the smoke into the air. "The lab-rats are still examining the ruins. We're not sure exactly what kind of explosives were used in the bombing, but they were high-yield. Military grade, it seems. No sign of the Prince himself. I would expect he was vaporized."

"What am I to do about this, Arcturus?" The Regulator's voice betrayed none of the weariness he felt, but the Lunar Sector Commandant knew his superior well enough to pick up on it. "Things were bad enough _before_ the Veteran started making noise again, but now…? I have a moon on the brink of rebellion. I have a Queen who never leaves her palace, a dissenter who never leaves the shadows, a populace caught in the middle who grows more and more unrestful with every new bombing, and now this… An attack on the Heroes. All the media spinsters in the kingdom would not be able to keep this under wraps. Skaia's cunt, what a mess…"

"You're acting-Archagent, sir," Arcturus reminded his old friend. "Surely you have the authority to-"

"_Authority._" The Authority Regulator spat the word like it was a curse. "Bloody joke…" The Regulator allowed his voice to trail off, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils before he said anything more. The odor of smoke filled his nose as he breathed in. As he exhaled, the Regulator became aware of a new sound, one that reminded him of the muffled beating of fan blades.

_Whump whump whump whump._

"And here come the spooks, right on time…" Commandant Arcturus muttered, casting his gaze upward.

Sure enough, a transport was descending from the sky. It touched down in the middle of the street, allowing the side door to be slid open. A tall man wearing a dark gray suit and bowler hat disembarked, immediately began hollering orders to the nearest constables. "Clear out! This has been declared a restricted sector by order of the Queen-"

Wishing he'd brought his whiskey flask along, the Authority Regulator took a deep breath and strode towards the loudmouthed Agent. "This is a crime scene under the authority of L-Sec Enforcement," the Regulator informed the Agent, prompting the official in the gray suit to turn around. "State your business here."

"Not anymore it's not, _acting_ Archagent," the Agent retorted, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint grin. "Orders came in from the Black Queen herself. Jurisdiction of the Obsidian Moon has been relegated to martial law until the Wrathful Veteran and his dissenters are an unpleasant memory."

"What did he say?!" Commandant Arcturus started forward, his temper beginning to flare.

Sensing a potential storm in the making, the Authority Regulator was quick to stop his subordinate from doing anything unwise. "_Silence,_ Arcturus," he hissed to his subordinate, quiet enough for the Agent not to hear. Not breaking eye contact with the Agent, the Regulator resumed the conversation. "I'm afraid that is unacceptable. The Crown has no authority over matters of domestic law enforcement. L-Sec Enforcement will-"

"I don't think you understand me," the Agent interrupted. "Lunar Sector Enforcement is history. All Enforcement officers are to report to their stations for debriefing and disarming."

"You cannot simply dissolve Lunar Enforcement on a whim, Agent," the Regulator argued, his voice beginning to tense up.

"All due respect, Regulator...I can, and I have," the Agent replied. "Now, you can stand aside and defer to me, or I will have you forcibly removed. I think you would prefer the first option."

"Forcibly removed?" Commandant Arcturus snorted, unable to contain himself any longer. "Is that so? You're going to _forcibly remove_ me? With 'all due respect'...you and whose army?"

The Agent's gaze slid over to the Lunar Commandant. "You were in charge of Enforcement here on the moon, yes? Arcturus, is it? Good. Well, former-Commandant, to answer your question: me, and _my_ army. They should be arriving right about now, if I timed this correctly..."

A shadow fell over Eastvale Ghetto. While it was dark most of the time in the ghetto, this shadow obscured the meager daylight that remained. The Authority Regulator looked up, his expression remaining perfectly neutral as he beheld the massive violet battleship that was moving into position over the ghetto. More ships could be seen higher in the sky, moving into high orbit over the Obsidian Moon.

Transports were dispatched to the surface. Three of these transports landed right on the street. Armored doors slid open, allowing heavily-armed Dersites clad entirely in black to emerge. They were commandos - elite troops from the Black King's army. Their presence at home did not bode well.

Neither the Regulator nor Arcturus moved as they watched the scene unfold around them. The commandos immediately formed up into teams and began coordinating with one another as they headed deeper into the ghetto. The Enforcers were disarmed on the spot and ordered to return to their stations, the forensics crew shooed away from their work, their equipment haphazardly packed up and moved away.

The Authority Regulator could scarcely believe what was happening. He'd known the Black Queen was not to be trifled with, but using the military to disband domestic law enforcement? Every fibre of his being was bending the wrong way. Over the years, his zealous adherence to the letter of the law had been tempered somewhat, but when he had to stand by and watch as that same law was made nonexistent…

"The Queen wants to see you, Regulator," the Agent informed the Chief of Enforcement. "Hop a transport to the Obsidian Palace. I would not keep her waiting too long, if you value your head remaining attached to your shoulders. As for you, former Commandant, you will report back to Lunar Sector HQ for summary debriefing. A pleasant afternoon to you both."

With that, the Agent turned on his heel and marched smartly towards the nearest commando officer, taking control of the situation. Arcturus and the Authority Regulator were left standing on the sidewalk in a stunned silence.

* * *

><p>The Authority Regulator's mind was blank as he strode toward the heavy obsidian doors that served as the entrance to the Black Queen's throne room. The doors were open already - the Regulator could already see the Queen, poised on her amethyst throne like a cat ready to pounce. The Regulator could only wish that he felt less like the 'mouse' in the equation.<p>

There were four commandos standing guard outside the doors, but they stood aside for the Regulator to pass. Their reflective glasses prevented any form of eye contact from being made.

The Authority Regulator strode into the throne room, taking great care not to reveal the apprehension coiling up inside him. No one liked being summoned to see the Queen. _Hell, even Noir hates being summoned to see the Queen…_ The Regulator murmured to himself mentally. He then made sure he stopped talking to himself in his head.

The Authority Regulator approached the Queen, sinking to a knee and dipping his head. "Your Royal Highness-"

"Dispense with the pleasantries, Regulator, I did not call you here for idle chat," the Black Queen interrupted, uncrossing her legs, straightening up in her amethyst throne. She remained silent while the Authority Regulator stood back up, slowly and quietly tapping a finger against the throne's arm. She stared directly at the Regulator, prolonging the uncomfortable silence. The Regulator did not break eye contact, however, prompting the Queen to continue. "You came straight from the Obsidian Moon, no?"

"That is correct, Your Royal-"

"What did I say about the pleasantries?" The Black Queen's gaze grew even harsher.

"You said to dispense with them," the Authority Regulator echoed without skipping a beat.

"_Correct._" The Queen's mouth parted into a grin, revealing pointed teeth. "You learn fast. Now then, you came straight from the Obsidian Moon, no?"

"Yes."

"You've seen the wreckage, then," the Black Queen deduced. "The Prince's tower was destroyed by the Wrathful Veteran's dissenters, as you have just witnessed. Lunar Enforcement is clearly no longer capable of keeping the peace, so I have declared martial law until the dissention is crushed."

Another silence. The Black Queen's gaze bored right into the Regulator's brain, her harsh white eyes quickly becoming almost painful to look at directly. But the Authority Regulator did not even blink. Remaining still seemed to be the best option.

The silence dragged on for over a minute before the Black Queen spoke again. "Have you anything to say, Regulator?"

"No."

The Queen's grin vanished. "Then on to business. What I just told you was complete hogwash - I am responsible for the destruction of the Prince's tower. But you knew that, already - do not bother denying this. Why did you not say so?"

"Because I had nothing to say and you did not tell me to speak."

That earned a single nod from the Black Queen. "Very good, Regulator, very good. Keep that attitude and you just might live to see the end of this year. Now, you are keen enough to deduce that the Wrathful Veteran was not responsible for the attack. The commoners, however, are not quite so keen, as I am sure you are well aware. If they were to find out about such a thing, they might revolt. And if there is one thing we both have in common, it is that we cannot afford a revolution on the homefront, not with the war coming to a head. Would you not agree?"

"I agree." The Authority Regulator wished the Queen would stop asking him questions that were in the negative. It forced him to word his answers with the care a spider would put into weaving the perfect web. And while he was rock-solid under pressure, the Black Queen was an entirely different dimension of pressure cooker.

"_Good._" The Queen's grin returned. It did not reach her eyes, however. Her smiles never reached her eyes. "I would so very much loathe there to be any disagreement between myself and my Chief of Enforcement. Oh, and I no longer require your services as acting-Archagent. Noir will be returning to us quite soon. See that you are removed from his office before he arrives - I do not expect he would take too kindly to find you still sitting behind his desk. Would you not agree?"

"I would."

"You would...not agree?"

The Authority Regulator blinked once. "I _would_ agree."

"I certainly hope so, for your sake." The Black Queen leaned forward, her grin widening a hair. "This business with the Veteran will soon be put to rest. I look forward to working with you to make him a memory." The message was clear to the Regulator: _I am watching you. One false move, and you are dead._ The Queen straightened back up, crossing her legs once again. She waved a hand at the Authority Regulator. "That will be all, Regulator. Take care you do not get lost on your way to the Amethyst Tower."

* * *

><p>The Authority Regulator was yawning as he trudged through the entrance of his domicile. He lived alone in a flat on the eighth floor of an apartment complex. The complex was located in the depths of Everdark District, one of the more bustling population centers of Derse, not to mention a favorable choice of home for many members of Domestic Enforcement due to the abundance of pubs and lounges.<p>

The interior of the Regulator's flat was very spartan in appearance. Many Dersites enjoyed going all out on the themes and decor of their homes, but the Regulator was not one of them. Why put so much effort into decorating an apartment he was so rarely able to return to, anymore? He spent an even fifty-percent of his nights crashing in his office in the Amethyst Tower.

The Authority Regulator yawned again, shed his coat, draped it over the back of his couch. He then trudged over to his refrigerator, retrieved one of his bottles of aged scotch. He took a glass, dropped in three icecubes before filling it. The Regulator sipped the scotch, giving a nearly inaudible hum of pleasure as the burning liquid woke up his tastebuds.

There had once been a time when booze had been illegal in the kingdom. This had given rise to an age of underground trade and smuggling, speakeasies, and so much organized crime it made the Regulator's head spin. The Authority Regulator enjoyed breaking up the booze gangs, he really did, but there had just been so _many_ of them. But eventually the Black Queen was wise enough to allow the sale of alcohol in the kingdom, albeit under a tax.

What a time that had been. The Regulator was grateful for his scotch - he was in particular need of some liquid comfort tonight. He sat down on his couch and flicked on the television. He moved through the myriad channels of Derse's TV stations. Nothing much on, today...just news, news, and more news. Dersites loved a saucy tabloid.

As he flipped through the channels, the noise from the TV soon blurred together into an unintelligible hum for the Regulator. He was still back on that street in the Eastvale ghetto, back amidst all that burning wreckage and debris from the havoc caused by the destruction of the Prince's tower. He could not stop seeing those twelve bodies.

Another news channel.

_...attack on the tower of the Prince, just this morning, leading citizens to begin questioning the effectiveness of Domestic Enforcement as a law-enforcing body..._

The Authority Regulator muttered something under his breath about throwing all the annoying news anchors into the slammer, clicked off the TV. He drained the last of his scotch, left the glass on the coffee table, got back up to his feet. The Regulator yawned again, moved around the couch. He headed into his bedroom - the only other room in his flat - and started getting ready for sleep. He was going to need a lot of it-

The bedroom door creaked shut.

"_Good to see you again, old friend._"

"What the…?" the Authority Regulator whipped into action, turning on the lamp at his bedside, turning to face the source of the voice in the dark.

Another Dersite, shorter than the Regulator, was sitting in a chair next to the bedroom door, which he had just nudged shut. He was wearing an informal gray suit. An ugly scar marred the left side of his face, evidence of previous battles fought. The Wrathful Veteran gave a quiet chuckle. "Is that any way to greet a friend from the old days?"

The Authority Regulator was silent for a moment, meeting the Veteran's gaze. Then he said, "Should I be grabbing my pistol, right now?"

"You're welcome to, but you will not need it." The Veteran shrugged. "I'm only here to talk. How is Arcturus doing, these days?"

"He's out of a job, now," the Regulator replied bluntly. "Don't tell me you didn't know that, already. What do you want."

"Always so abrasive, AR… I'm glad you haven't changed too much." Another chuckle from the Veteran. Then he straightened up and the wry grin vanished. "But you're right, it's time I got to the point. I know all about what happened with Lunar Enforcement - the commandos are raking through Eastvale with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any sign of the Prince's body. They will not find it, old friend - the Prince is alive, and he is with me."

The Authority Regulator nearly gave a small start, but was able to contain it. Truth be told, he was not all that surprised - despite the shock of having a direct attack on a Hero take place right here at home, the Regulator had never been fully convinced that the Prince was dead. "...go on?"

"You've been straddling the fence for a long time, AR," the Wrathful Veteran said. "Keeping the peace is all well and good, but there comes a point when trying to do so could be likened to attempting to keep two planets from crashing into each other. You can certainly try, but you will be crushed to a pulp. And I've seen enough of my friends get crushed to a pulp."

"Are you trying to recruit me to the dissention?"

"I'm trying to tell you that Derse is about to become a warzone," the Veteran replied. "It's about to become a warzone, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Either you pick a side, or you get crushed in the middle. You saw what's happening on the Obsidian Moon, AR, you know the Queen is showing her true colors again."

"She is trying to keep the peace, as well-"

"She is trying to consolidate power! She is trying to strike while she still can, not preserve the peace!" the Veteran snapped, his calm demeanor finally slipping. "In case you haven't noticed, the Heroes have woken up. And we both know that when Heroes wake up, it doesn't mean we're about to all go out on a picnic and sit around a campfire with marshmallows. It means people are going to die. And you're deluding yourself if you believe the Queen puts any more value on our lives than she would a pile of cobra-consort dung."

"And what value did _you_ put on the lives of all who died in the last uprising?" the Authority Regulator countered. "Billions in damages, thousands of poor souls dead...and I'm the one who had to clean up your mess. And I'll have to clean up this one, too. You really haven't changed, either."

The Wrathful Veteran grew very quiet. "AR…" he chose his words carefully, softening his tone. "Something is different, this time. I can feel it. I don't think you'll have to clean up my mess because, if the Queen succeeds in killing the Heroes, there won't be anything left to clean up."

The Authority Regulator hesitated. He swore at himself in his head. The Veteran was a radical. Why was the Regulator allowing his old friend to get inside his head? Having that last thought made the Chief of Enforcement let out a quiet sigh. Even after everything, despite all the differences and wrongs between them...the Regulator still considered the Veteran to be a friend.

"You, uh...you still have Can Town?" The Regulator finally broke the uncomfortable silence, not knowing what else to say.

The Wrathful Veteran blinked twice, thrown off by the sudden shift of topic. But he recovered swiftly. "Yes. And I expect you still have that ridiculous caution-tape cloak somewhere?"

That made the Authority Regulator hum with muted laughter, the first time he'd laughed in weeks. But when the laughter died, the gulf between the two estranged friends seemed even wider. "You should leave, old friend," the Regulator advised. "This is not a safe place for you."

The Wrathful Veteran looked like he wanted to argue further, but he did not. Instead, he rose to his feet, opened the bedroom door. Then he hesitated, turned round, reached into an inner pocket. He drew out a tiny object - a cylinder of black plastic, with a button on the top. He tossed it to the Regulator, who caught it out of reflex.

"Think on what I said, AR. If you change your mind, press that button. I'll come to you."

And then the Veteran was gone, leaving the Authority Regulator alone and in silence.


	61. V Chapter 61: Dragonslayers

Chapter Sixty-One: Dragonslayers

Goldmont Fiefdom, home to some of the awesome-est dwarves in all creation. Well, at least they were usually awesome. Today, though...not so awesome. Unless you consider making Cass go on a crazy, suicidal quest to be awesome...

Uh...okay, I guess you want probably want some context, yeah? Like, maybe, what the hell is Goldmont Fiefdom? My bad, I've really been giving the inner monologue a rest, lately. It's been refreshing, you know, just not having this damn voice in my head constantly analyzing everything in overdrive, and then having the fucking Eagle start competing for processing power, and-

_Whew._ Deep breaths… Can't go off on tangents like that, anymore, not unless I'm asking for a whole fuckload of 'bad weather' in the mindscape. Where was I?

Dwarves. Right.

I mean, it shouldn't come off as such a surprise that there are dwarves living in the Land of Thunder and _Dwarves_. Sometimes Sburb can be straightforward. Sometimes. But what kind of dwarves, you ask? Are we talking Lord of the Rings-esque dwarves? Thorin and pals? Are we talking World of Warcraft-style dwarves - the really 'jolly' and rotund ones with giant noses and beards? Are we talking an entire planet of Tyrion Lannisters and Mini-Mes?

Well, yes and no. The 'dwarves' really didn't conform to any single dwarven stereotype from what I could see. There were stout, thick-bearded ones. There were skinny, impish ones. There were female dwarves, too, which we usually never see. And _damn,_ some of them are smoking hot, the ones that didn't have beards, and-

Fucking god, I'm losing my mind all over again. Like I said, it's been a while. Focus…

Okay, Goldmont Fief. That's the name of the area Cass and I ended up in after her first gate zapped us to somewhere in the middle of an underling-infested jungle - turns out it's all part of a giant dwarven fiefdom, one of several. The mountain below which the local dwarven capital city rested would catch the Skaialight and seem to glow yellow, which gave rise to the name 'Goldmont'. It was the largest peak in the fief, which was why the dwarves of the region had raised their capital city in its foothills.

At least, that's what I think the reason is. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Here, uh...I'm kind of botching the exposition, so why don't we just rewind a few days?

* * *

><p>"<em>Adam, I'm slipping!<em>" Cass screamed. She screamed for two primary reasons - first, due to the fact that she had to make herself heard over all the wind. And secondly, due to the fact that she was deathly afraid of heights…and happened to be multiple thousand feet up in the sky, with nothing keeping her from falling except the grip Adamsprite had around her torso.

"Jesus Christ, you're not slipping!" Adamsprite shouted back, making sure Cass could not see him rolling his eyes.

"So help me god, if you drop me, I'll never speak to you again!"

"Well...you'll be dead, so I don't think-"

"_ADAM!_"

Adamsprite bit down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from snickering. He wasn't able to hide it completely - whenever the sprite boy laughed, his body would flare a brighter red, and everything around him would tingle with static electricity. But Cass, luckily for him, was unaware of this.

The sprite boy tightened his grip around his friend. It occurred to him that he'd wanted to hold her like this for quite a while. Back in school - when he'd been 'regular' Adam, from his perspective - when he shared a study hall with Cass, he would sometimes pace back and forth in the nearest bathroom, rehearsing dozens of different ways to initiate a conversation with her. Talking to her had been a Herculean labor - the thought of _holding_ her had been out of the question. Unthinkable.

And now that he was finally doing it...they were streaking through the sky of a thunderstorm-ridden planet, and Cass was scared out of her mind. The irony was not lost on Adamsprite.

The sprite boy ceased his powerful wingbeats and started tucking himself into a gentle glide, riding the powerful wind currents down towards the valley below, angling so that the winds would carry them around the mountain. The city below looked like it had just been through a war. It had a grand, beautiful architecture that was reminiscent of Imperial Russia - bulbous turrets, and all that - but it had certainly seen better days. About a fifth of it had been on fire, though the flames seemed to have been subdued. Tiny figures were scurrying about with buckets of water, extinguishing the dozens of small fires that had popped up in some of the dwellings and surrounding fields. Several parts of the city's protective stone walls had also been knocked down.

A large crowd of people was gathering in the fields in front of the city's main gates, so that was where Adamsprite intended to make his landing. Cass opened her eyes again as they neared ground level, giving a quiet start as she took in the sight of all the wreckage. The fields outside the city were completely littered with underling corpses - easily multiple dozen of the larger, lizard-like fire-breathing wyrms, as well as their smaller, snake-like basilisk brethren.

The underling corpses were not in good shape. Only a few of them were left in one piece - the vast majority had almost literally been cut to ribbons, torn to shreds, or charred beyond recognition. The sight was enough to make Cass feel even more sick to her stomach than she already did from all the flying. "What the hell happened here?" she asked Adamsprite as they circled round the city, fluttering down toward the corpse-ridden field.

"Yeah, um…" The sprite boy cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortable with having Cass see some of his uglier handiwork. "The city was getting fucked by a giant swarm of those big shits when I showed up, and, uh… I guess I got a little carried away."

"You guess? I can see their guts all over the place!"

When Adamsprite landed, he set Cass down gently onto her feet, making sure she had her balance before letting her go. He then started to touch down...only to remember, at the very last second, that he no longer had legs. Cass noticed the slipup, saw the momentary flicker of pain flash across the sprite boy's face before it was gone. She looked away before he could realize she'd seen it.

There were a lot of people gathered in the fields, picking through the wreckage, stunned into silence by the sheer quantity of butchered underlings, as well as the grisly, nauseating state of their remains. It was a sight they were clearly not used to. As for the people themselves, they were the first humanoid people Adamsprite had seen since Day One - men, women, children...none of them standing over four feet tall.

The short people seemed hesitant to get too close to Adamsprite and Cass. They murmured amongst themselves, some of them pointing, speculating. The two companions were left standing there in the middle of the field, facing the crowd of consorts, unsure of what to do next.

Cass leaned over quietly to Adamsprite, not taking her eyes off the gathered crowd, asking him in a hushed whisper, "_Are those dwarves?_"

"_Uh...yeah… They're short and most of them have epic beards - I think they're dwarves._"

"_Don't be a dick._"

"_I'm not being a dick, you just asked a dumb question._"

"_Why are they just standing there? Are they going to talk to us?_"

"_Um… I dunno._"

"_Well...should _we_ talk to _them?"

"_I dunno._"

"_You're a huge help._"

"_Well, they watched me go fucking nuts on an entire swarm of underlings just a few minutes ago, they're probably kinda freaked out._"

"_Shouldn't they be thanking you if you helped them out like that?_"

"_I think I was screaming a lot. Or maybe I was screeching...can't remember. There was also a lot of fire._"

"_Okay, yeah, I'd probably be freaked out, too…_"

"_Uh-huh._"

"_So...then I guess we should talk to them? They're getting a little restless._"

"_Okay…okay, I think I know what to do. Follow my lead._"

"_What are you going to say?_"

"_Just follow my lead._"

"_No, what are you going to say? Don't just tell me to follow your- _Adam! _God damn it…_"

Adamsprite was already approaching the gathered crowd of dwarven onlookers, forcing Cass to jog to catch up with him. When they started to draw back, he spread his hands out wide, showing that he was not armed. That did not seem to calm the dwarves down very much.

"Hey, uh...um… _Fuck me-_" Adamsprite shook his head once, took a deep breath. Time to bring it home. "DON'T ANY OF YOU VERTICALLY CHALLENGED MOTHERFUCKERS KNOW WHO THIS IS?" he asked the gathered dwarves in as loud a voice as he could muster, which was pretty loud. "THIS IS THE GODDAMN SYLPH OF DEATH! YEAH, _THE_ SYLPH OF DEATH, THE ONE YOU"RE ALL THINKING OF - _THAT_ ONE! Yeah, um…_fucking shit-_ WHY ARE ALL OF YOU STILL STANDING? YOU SHOULD BE ON YOUR GODDAMN KNEES-"

Sensing the opportunity to jump in, Cass stepped forward and planted herself in front of Adamsprite, making sure she was able to throw him a withering glare before turning to face all the dwarves, who by now had all fallen to their knees, not wanting to incur the wrath of the terrifying monster who'd just torn through their skies. All the dwarves, save one - a 'taller' man of about four feet, who wore a greatcoat of gold and black. He had eyes of fierce violet, an angular face, and a beard of neatly-trimmed coal-black hair.

"You guys, uh...you guys can all stand up, you don't have to kneel for me," Cass said to the kneeling dwarves. When none of them moved, she cleared her throat and continued to speak. "Seriously, you can stop kneeling! I don't need you to - _oh, this is awkward_ - I don't need you to kneel, you can all just - _why are dwarves so awkward _- you can all just stand up!"

Much to Cass's relief, the dwarf wearing the elegant gold-black greatcoat answered her, saving her from digging her grave any deeper. "Tall girl, is that your beast?" he asked, nodding toward Adamsprite.

Adamsprite's sprite body flared with an angry crimson glow. "Did he just call me a-"

"_Shut the fuck up, Adam,_" Cass whisper-shouted to her surrogate spirit guide, not breaking eye contact with the dwarven leader. "Yes! _Ehm…_ Yes, he is my beast! You must forgive his temper, he's not all there mentally, but if you point him in the right direction and tell him to 'smash', he tends to-"

"_Stay on topic, Cass, stay on topic,_" Adamsprite murmured into his friend's ear, doing his best to keep his snickering quiet as he watched Cass try to bullshit her way through the attention of several hundred listening dwarves. "_And wait, was that an Incredible Hulk reference-_"

Cass's forehead furrowed in a deep frown, but she kept right on talking, even while fantasizing about strangling the sprite boy after the introductions were complete. "-well, he tends to do exactly that! And, uh...well, it looks like he's done a pretty bang-up job so far, so...um… Yeah. You're welcome."

The dwarven noble's other eyebrow slid up to join its twin. "Does your beast speak the truth? You claim to be the Sylph?"

Cass answered immediately, speaking before Adamsprite had a chance to offer up a biting retort. She could already hear him muttering under his breath. "No, I don't claim to be the Sylph. I _am_ the Sylph."

More murmuring, more speculating, more whispering. The dwarves seemed to be growing more curious than alarmed, now, and some of them started getting back up to their feet, much to Cass's relief.

The dwarf nobleman gave a quiet grunt, allowing both of his eyebrows to sink back down. He glanced to the left, then to the right, deep in thought, taking stock of the general reactions of his brethren, and then of his own intuition. Finally coming to a decision, he walked forward, planting himself right in front of Cass, still managing to make her feel tiny even though she was nearly a foot taller than him. He wore a stern expression on his face, his mouth a hard line, his gaze seeming to bore right through her. It took all her willpower not to fidget uncomfortably.

Then the dwarf's violet eyes glinted, his mouth parting in a wide smile. "If you're the Sylph, then I say this bloody well calls for a feast! Well, lads, what say you?"

The crowd of gathered dwarves immediately burst into cheers. Feasts, it would appear, were something they really enjoyed. They started to disperse, funneling back into their city through the main gates. Already, music was beginning to float up into the air.

Once the tension broke, Cass and Adamsprite both released the breaths they had not even realized they'd been holding.

Booming with hearty laughter, the dwarf nobleman threw his arms around Cass and drew her forward into what had to be the most painful bear hug she'd ever experienced. After he'd successfully left Cass with what felt like a fractured ribcage, the nobleman released her and looked over to Adamsprite. "Are you of solid matter, beast?"

Adamsprite blinked twice. "Well, I mean, yeah, when I choose to be-_OOF!_"

The nobleman interrupted the sprite boy with a crushing embrace of his own, causing the red light of his sprite body to flare bright and spark. "By the dragons, lad, you feel like flesh and blood!" the dwarf exclaimed in surprise, complementing his embrace with an equally painful clap on the back. "Tell me, are you still able to enjoy mead and ale?"

Despite the throbbing in his chest and the discomfort caused by the nobleman's literal ruffling of his feathers, Adamsprite managed a grin. "Uh, fuck _yes,_ I'm still able to get schwasted!"

The dwarven nobleman blinked once. "Pray tell, what is a 'schwasted'?"

"It's not a...it's when...it's what we call getting drunk. C'mon, Cass, let's go eat some massive turkey legs and get schwasted! It'll be like the Renaissance Faire all over again!"

* * *

><p>So, there you have it. That's how we met and subsequently partied with the consorts of the Land of Thunder and Dwarves. I guess I kinda stole Cass's thunder in the beginning of her feast. I mean, again, the dwarves are her consorts - which was sort of strange, if you ask me; I thought that consorts were supposed to be reptiles or amphibians. But these dwarves...well, they're certainly not reptiles or amphibians.<p>

What they are is _really fucking swell at partying_. Yeah, they're so good at partying, I just used the word 'swell' to describe it. Bob has got to be one of the coolest motherfuckers I know - he would give Theo a run for his money when it comes to bear hugs, and he would give Anna a run for her booze when it comes to drinking. The guy was fucking unstoppable. He was a tank. An unstoppable dwarven booze tank.

In the end, it came down to a drinking contest between me and Bob. Turns out, I can't get drunk! Now that I'm...well, er...you know...not exactly _human,_ anymore… No liver, I guess. Or at least, if I still have some kind of liver, it definitely doesn't work the same way. What ended up happening was this - the more I drank, the more volatile my aura became. It would get to the point where the mere act of sneezing would threaten to blow a hole through the roof of the great hall. 'Sprite anatomy' plus 'Knight of Force jazz' plus 'Booze' equals...well, it equals 'I can't drink without blowing shit up'.

Bob won the drinking contest because eventually it got to the point where I couldn't even grab my tankard without having the ale spontaneously catch fire.

Shit, okay, fuck, I'm doing it again - 'Bob' is the Lord of Goldmont Fief. Remember the guy with the fancy gold-black greatcoat? From the fields outside the city? Yeah, that's Bob. And yes, I know, 'Bob' isn't really his name. His real name is actually 'Robert Blackthorne V'. Pretty badass name, if you ask me, but I just like calling him 'Bob'. And hell, he didn't seem to mind!

I hit it off really well with the dwarves. I guess I've been living in my own head with the Eagle for so long, having some good, festive company was something I really needed. Cass, on the other hand, wasn't much of a partier. It took her a little bit to get in the swing of things.

I felt a little bad. I mean, she was the Sylph, the crazy-awesome party dwarves were her consorts… Like I said, I didn't want to steal any of her thunder. This was supposed to be _her_ rodeo, not mine. But then something wonderful happened.

A drunken, burly dwarf by the name of Wymar Redbeard - something of a local legend, renowned for his great strength and skill with an axe - accidentally dropped his drink during one of the more boisterous tunes from the feast's 'soundtrack', provided by Lord Bobby Blackthorne's personal band of minstrels. Cass had been standing next to the heavily-muscled dwarf when his drink went flying and, without even thinking, she snatched it out of the air with one hand and returned it to him.

Everyone might've missed it had Wymar Redbeard not been the center of attention at the time - he had a terrible singing voice, but his fire and enthusiasm made him one of the most entertaining people at the feast to watch. Redbeard had been so impressed with Cass's speed that he challenged her to a Match, which is their version of play-fighting.

Well, this dwarf was ridiculously strong and surprisingly fast for his body type. Cass sidestepped and evaded Redbeard's first few attempts to ensnare her in his crushing grip. Maybe he would've done better if he hadn't been drunk, but…

Well, to make it short, Cass ended up taking him down by jumping _toward_ the muscular dwarf when he got impatient and charged, seizing one of his arms. She used the dwarf's forward momentum to her advantage, planting herself firmly, causing the dwarf to spin around out of control. She extended a single foot ever so gently, tripped Redbeard with it, sent him crashing to the floor. She then shifted her grip up to the muscular dwarf's hand, bending it at a painful angle. It took minimal effort on her part, but the dwarf was unable to escape the grip without causing himself excruciating pain.

No hard feelings with these guys, though - they like a good brawl. Redbeard dusted himself off, got back up, laughed in Cass's face and forced his drink into her hand. They spent the rest of the feast together. And props to Redbeard - the poor guy cheerfully endured an entire night of jeering from his fellow revelers for getting beaten in a matter of seconds by a girl.

As for me, my jaw nearly hit the floor when I saw it all happen, but I never got the chance to ask Cass about it. Since when was she a martial-arts badass? I would have to ask her later. The feast went on, coming to a content conclusion before Skaiarise, involving many dwarves sleeping on the stone floor, or their chairs. Cass and I were invited to crash at the home of Lord Blackthorne, where Cass was given a comfy four-poster bed. I made do with a pile of furs and blankets - I'm technically weightless, after all, and made of 'sprite-light', so I didn't really need anything comfy to sleep on.

Then things got a little more serious. The next day, Bob woke us up and we returned to the great hall where we'd feasted and gotten super-weird just the night before. And I got so fucking jealous, here, when he and his inner circle of advisors gave Cass her quest. Wanna know why I got so jealous?

Well, it wasn't because they asked her to go into the heart of Mount Goldmont and slay the dragon that apparently lived there. That part kinda sucked. No, I was jealous because they fucking _asked_ her to do it. They already believed that she was the Sylph; this was kind of their way of reporting a cracked telephone pole to the city council.

Got a dragon living in your home mountain? No prob, Bob, just ask the fucking Sylph!

My consorts didn't _ask_ me to do _shit_ - they just pointed at a fucking sword ladder and said '_climb, motherfucker, or we'll kill you._' I mean...well, I guess _I_ technically didn't do any of that, but… I still experienced it! Sure, maybe it happened in a...in a dream bubble, for me, but...but I still had to climb that ladder, just like the...the _other_ Adam had to. I still had to go through that, and I remember what it was like.

What I would've given for my quest to have been this easy! Having my consorts just believe that I was the Knight, right off from the get go-

"_Adam._" Cass's voice snapped me back into the present. "_Pay attention, I need you here._"

I realized that, while I'd been allowing my thoughts to wander, the strength of the flame I was producing for light had begun to wane. I shook my head once, gave more juice to the fire in my left hand. The passageway Cass and I were traveling through was illuminated once again, though only about twenty or so feet in front of and behind us. Beyond the reach of my fire was pitch black darkness.

Apt, I guess, for a 'secret' passageway that runs underneath a mountain. We'd been walking through this dwarf-made access tunnel for so long, I'd already lost track of time.

"Sorry...keep getting lost in my head, down here. I don't like enclosed spaces..."

Cass looked over at me, an eyebrow arching slightly, concern etched across her face. "You're not having more...trouble...are you? With your mind?"

"Hm? Oh, no, um...no, not that kind of trouble," I assured her. "The Eagle's been quiet, lately. Not so afraid, anymore, I guess. Long as I stretch my wings, every once in a while, let it have some bird time..."

"What about you, Adam?"

"Huh?"

"Do you feel okay? We never got the chance to talk afterwards," Cass explained. "I just felt so tired… And it was weird; when I was looking at your mind, I kept getting swamped with all this random knowledge about how the mind works...couldn't stop thinking about Freud's psyche model. Felt like someone was just shoving things into my brain."

I raised an eyebrow of my own. Yes, I still have eyebrows. "Sounds like _you're_ the one who needs to talk."

"I…" Cass let out a slow breath. "Look, I know that whatever...whatever I did to you, back in that tree… I know that it helped you, I know that. But...it just didn't feel _right_."

I graduated from a 'raised eyebrow' to a full 'blink'. Sure, whatever Cass did to my mind hadn't necessarily 'cured' me, but it had really helped...gave me kind of a breather, you know, from all the noise the Eagle was making, as well as the noise _I_ was inadvertently making in a doomed attempt to drown the Eagle out. How could she feel bad about it?

When I asked her this, I could tell that she actually had a lot she wanted to say, but maybe didn't know how to put it into words. Gee, who does that remind me of...it was like looking into a human mirror.

"I don't know, it… It didn't feel like _me_ doing the healing," Cass explained. "I could barely hear myself think during the whole thing… And I remember you kept on telling me to stop, but...but I couldn't."

My wing feathers quivered, sending a quiet cascade of orange sparks down my back, where they fizzled away into the air. "I mean, yeah, it kinda hurt...a lot… But it's okay! I had to face those memories, and I clearly wasn't going to be able to by myself."

"You don't understand, Adam, I didn't _want_ to keep on pushing - I knew how much pain it was causing you." Cass pressed on. "But I couldn't stop! Whenever I tried to stop, my brain would start exploding with more Freud and psychology, and more questions, and...and then I'd start poking and prodding around your mind, again, until _you_ started moving back towards those memories. I couldn't stop it."

Ah...okay, this was starting to make a lot more sense. Time to consult the Sprite-cyclopedia that I now had conveniently stored in my brain. Or...well, whatever equivalent to 'brains' that sprites have…

"Cass, uh...how much was your original sprite able to tell you about your role? You know...Sylph of Death, and shit?"

"Dragonsprite?" Cass looked over at me, now. Her eyes, naturally violet, were shining maroon in my firelight. _Jesus Christ, she's hot_- I blinked once, forcing myself to focus as she kept on speaking. "Um...not very much… Dragonsprite got incinerated before he could tell me anything helpful. Said something about not being supposed to give me too much info…"

"Yeah, fuck that." I rolled my eyes. I, too, felt a little resistance from my inner Sprite-cyclopedia as I accessed the appropriate...'records', was the closest word I could use to describe the contents of the sprite knowledge… I felt resistance, as if the knowledge itself was not too happy about being shared, but I insisted. "Here's a little rundown of what your 'wiring' is. Sylphs are a healing class. You heal, Cass."

"I knew that much," Cass acknowledged. "I'm a 'healer of death'. Still doesn't help me, much. Does that mean I'm a necromancer?"

"Well, the 'Sylph' bit is only half of it. You have to understand the Aspect, too - _Death,_" I said, patiently waiting for Cass to finish talking. Hey, I used to be just as confused as she was - I know how frustrating it feels. "See, the thing about the Aspects is that their names are symbolic, not literal. Like...take my Aspect, for example, Force. Doesn't actually mean 'Force', like telekinesis, you know. That's part of it, but not exactly the 'essence' of Force. I actually used to think it meant 'kinetic energy', and I was on the right track...but, turns out, it actually means 'Movement'. Bit more abstract of a concept, but 'kinetic energy' is a _part_ of Movement. Or how Gino's Aspect, Mind, actually means 'Choice', instead of telepathy or some shit. Get the idea?"

Cass gave me a quizzical look. "How do you know all this?"

"I'm a sprite, too, in case you forgot."

"Okay, then, sprite boy, what is Death?"

"_Fear_."

It was Cass's turn to blink in surprise. I tried to gauge her reaction, but wasn't really able to in the limited light. "Um...'fear'? That's it?"

I fought the urge to snort. "Fear's a big deal! It limits potential. It's like fragmentation - _I am afraid of this, therefore I cannot face this_. But a Sylph of Death could, theoretically at least, repair that fragmentation. You're a healer of fear. And I'd say you're doing a pretty good job, so far. I mean, I'm not exactly going insane and trying to murder anyone, anymore… When you helped me back in that tree, you were just being a Sylph, is all. A Sylph doing Deathy shit."

"Well… I'm still sorry those memories hurt so much. I wish there had been an easier way."

"It's okay, Cass. I forgive you."

"You really mean that?"

"I do. Now, watch out for that wall you're about to walk into."

"_Shit-_" Cass looked forward just in time to see solid stone come rushing up to meet her face. She backpedalled just in time, barely avoiding smacking herself into the end of the passageway. She dusted herself off, glaring over at me when I started snickering. "You asshole."

The passageway underneath Mount Goldmont came to a dead stop. There was a stone staircase that spiraled up into the mountain above us, so it was clear where we were meant to go. I didn't say anything as we climbed the stairs, though I'll admit I was starting to get kind of nervous. Did we kind of just...kind of dive in headfirst, here? I mean, 'diving in headfirst' was sort of the basis for my own quest, back on LORAR, but this was different. Climbing that sword ladder had been scary, but...well, my consorts didn't ask me to slay any dangerous beasts, or anything. If I'd gone up against a dragon in _my_ first week, I'd have gotten roasted!

And what do we even know about these dragons? The Sprite-cyclopedia was being super-cagey about them. Are they big dragons? Small? Sentient dragons, or beasts? I guess I hope they're not going to be overly intelligent dragons if we're going to be killing one of them…

"So, am I the only one who feels your consorts are totally ripping off The Hobbit?" I asked Cass as we kept climbing those stairs, finding the silence to be slightly oppressive.

"What?"

"Oh, c'mon, think about it. We got dwarves, we got a mountain that used to be their home, and we're going to try and kill the dragon that took it away from them. Is there an Arkenstone in here, somewhere?"

"...Adam, where are you getting all this? The dwarves never lived inside the mountains - this is the _dragon's_ home. Weren't you paying attention to what Lord Blackthorne told us?"

Ah. Well, shit. Thought I had a solid comparison, there… "I guess not...kinda lost him at '_dragon_', and '_go kill dragon_', and '_good luck killing dragon_'. Have I ever mentioned how dumb of an idea this is? We're going to fight a _dragon_. This is fucking nuts."

"The Goldmont dwarves aren't the only dwarves on this planet, Adam," Cass reminded me. "They're deathly afraid of the dragons, you know. They try to hide it, but they don't do a very good job. They don't really know if I'm the Sylph or not...they're just hoping really hard."

"Really? You got that vibe?"

"While you were busy blowing up the great hall with your drinking games, I was _listening_," Cass explained. "People talk a lot when they're drunk, and dwarves are no exception. These people are terrified of dragons. If I come back with a dragon's head, think of how much that'll cement their view of me."

"Easier to go after your Denizen if your consorts are all behind you…" I murmured in agreement.

"Which reminds me, can you check out who my Denizen is? Are there any sprite records that'll help me out there?" Cass asked. "The dwarves wouldn't talk about him. And I like knowing what I'm dealing with."

"Mm...good idea, lemme check the records…"

That actually _was_ a good idea...why didn't I think of that before? I sent a questioning probe into the Sprite-cyclopedia. More resistance...dang, Sburb _really_ wasn't happy with me snooping around in its library. Well, too damn bad, I'm insisting again...and… I actually winced when my probe ran into something that felt like a wall. There did not seem to be any available records on the Denizens, and I couldn't get through that wall no matter how hard I tried. Nevertheless, I _was_ able to get some things...quick, fleeting images, impressions, feelings...decay, death...sharp teeth...harsh, piercing, reddish-violet eyes…

"You okay, Adam?" I don't know if I looked like I was in a state of discomfort, but Cass was obviously able to sense that my fact-finding wasn't exactly painless.

"_Anubis,_" I was finally able to say, closing my eyes and withdrawing my probe from Sburb's records, taking several deep breaths, allowing my heartrate to slow down. "His name is Anubis. That's...that's the most I could get. Denizen records are on some sort of lockdown."

"Anubis…? Like...Egyptian God Anubis?"

"Yeah. I mean, not literally, but I think he had a dog head-_OW!_" Still attempting to clear my head after that little jaunt through the Sburb records, I hadn't been paying attention to the fact that we'd reached the top of the stairs. I kept floating upwards, only to smack my head into the ceiling of the tiny circular chamber we'd just emerged into. I glared at Cass, who'd begun to giggle, rubbing the sore spot on my head. "You bitch."

"No, 'payback' would be the bitch in this equation." Cass shot back. But then her expression softened, and she extended an olive branch. "Thanks for checking the records."

"No problem..." I couldn't stay irritated at her. Not many people have that power.

The chamber was, again, tiny. Room for ten people, at most. This passageway clearly wasn't built for large crowds of people... Built into the far wall was a simple square door made out of stone, the only way out of the circular chamber besides the stairs we'd just ascended. I floated back down to the floor and gripped the handles of the stone door. "Alright…alright, you ready for this? Dragon could be right on the other side of this door."

"One sec…" Cass took a moment to access her strife specibus, allowing what appeared to be an alchemized M16 assault rifle to materialize in her hands. She adjusted the sights and flicked off the safety, holding the rifle flush against her shoulder. Then she gave me a single nod. "Ready."

_God, you look sexy with a gun…_

Cass made a face at me, both of her eyebrows shooting up, her cheeks turning a light red color. Um…

"I said that out loud, didn't I."

Cass nodded again. "Yeah."

"Right...fuck it, just let the dragon fry me." With that, I heaved myself against the door, pushing it outward. I was startled when golden light spilled through the opening, causing my eyes to water up. Cass swore as she was temporarily blinded, but my vision recovered much more swiftly.

Just in time for me to see the roiling wall of fire that was roaring our way.

My Aspect immediately surged forth, filling my entire being with humming, crackling even thinking, I threw one hand behind me, shoving Cass back into the opposite wall of the chamber with a telekinetic push. At the same time, I thrust my other hand forward, planting it firmly in space, throwing up a hastily-constructed field of frozen 'movement'. Rather than forming a straight barrier, I pushed the central area of my Force field forward, elongating it.

All the incoming fire hit my Force field on its convex side and was dispersed. The fire did not immediately stop, however - it was a stream of flame, rather than a single blast. The effort required to maintain my field was not small, and I could feel the temperature in the circular chamber rising.

The fire showed no signs of relenting. This was not good… I mean, I could withstand these temperatures for a long while, but the same could not be said for Cass. "_Are you okay?_" I shouted back to Cass, grunting as I started pushing my way through the door, keeping the concentrated fire at bay.

"_Yeah!_" I heard Cass holler in response. "I've got your back!"

"_Can you see?_"

"_I have sunglasses on, now!_"

"_Okay, get ready! Fire's going down, dragon's probably taking a breath!_"

It must have been a reflex, what'd just happened. The dragon had to already know where this door was located, so...well, every time it opens… No way anyone could survive a roasting like this, no way anyone would be able to close the door in time after getting blindsided like this…

Damn, we're lucky I can redirect fire.

Sure enough, I felt the intensity of the hellstorm gradually reduce and finally dissipate. I was the blind one, this time - I'd just been staring into all this shit for nearly thirty seconds without flinching, and everything was looking a little washed out. I could make out a giant, open space that appeared to be the heart of Mount Goldmont. The walls were composed of a yellowish-rock, and all the natural light was emanating from these giant golden crystals embeded in the cavern walls.

This door opened out onto a high ledge, I could see that much...but beyond that, I needed to wait for my eyes to readjust once again. I could see several dark, hovering shapes in front of me, but… I gave a surprised grunt when Cass shoved me aside, not waiting for the hostile creatures to charbroil us a second time.

Cass took a knee and opened fire. Her rifle gave sharp, staccato reports as it opened fire, sending little blips of white energy through the air that moved almost too fast to see, similar to tracer rounds. That rifle clearly no longer used conventional ammunition...I wonder what Cass had done to it.

There were five dark, winged shapes that had been the source of all that fire that'd nearly given us the Joan of Arc treatment. But with each burst from Cass's rifle, one of those creatures would explode into a shower of multicolored lights. As my vision came back, I realized that they weren't lights at all - the ledge was now littered with various types of grist.

That couldn't be right…

Cass and I moved forward, right up to the edge of the high ledge we were on. We peered down, taking in the sight of the massive, yawning cavern below...and both of us started swearing when multiple hundred pairs of eyes looked back up at us from the darkness, their attention drawn to the fiery exchange that had just occurred.

I dunno if there was a dragon here, or not...but I did know one thing.

Cass and I had just walked right into a Wyrm nest.


	62. V Chapter 62: Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Chapter Sixty-Two: Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Cruz Arevalo was fishing for silver linings, at the moment.

As a person who had a very positive outlook on life, Cruz rarely found himself fishing for silver linings. No matter how dire the situation, there were always silver linings to be found, usually in the form of joints. But now, it seemed even a joint might not be able to do the trick.

The iguana-consorts of the Land of Lights and Smoke were slaughtering each other, and all Cruz could do was watch from a nearby clifftop.

Cruz knew very little about his consorts to begin with - due in no small part to a useless sprite guide. Santasprite's usefulness encompassed any and all questions that could be answered with a cheerful '_Ho Ho Ho!_'. Unfortunately, this seemed to be the extent of the strange spirit guide's vocabulary, and it did not help Cruz very much when he asked Santasprite about his consorts.

For over a week, now, Cruz had traveled all over LOLAS, and he had learned a few things. He learned that the vast majority of his planet was a giant ocean. He learned that his house had arrived on LOLAS's only landmass - a giant island, about the size of Australia, home to the iguana-consorts. He learned that the consorts lived as two separate tribes. He learned that these two tribes, having developed technology reminiscent of the Renaissance-era Ottoman Empire, had long since grown past the myths and legends of older times.

They cared nothing for the coming of the Sage. Cruz's attempts to contact both tribes had been met with hostility, primitive gunfire, and hails of arrows. Even a few thrown spears, just for good measure. Needless to say, Cruz quickly learned to avoid his consorts like the plague. Ironically enough, it was not his own consorts whom Cruz quickly befriended...but, rather, the underlings.

Cruz took another hit from his most recent joint, gestured down to the battle that was raging in the valley below, two separate armies of iguana-consorts colliding into each other in a mess of sabers, bayonets, and cannon. Smoke was beginning to fill the valley - acrid, bloody smog that smelled of death; not the fragrant, smoky vapours that were given off by LOLAS's natural hot vents and geysers.

"Just look at all that shit, Cheech," he said to the imp perched on the edge of the cliff to his left. "Fuckin' fools, man, every one of 'em. Why won't they listen to me?"

Cheech extended a claw and tapped Cruz politely on the elbow.

"Hm? What's up, little man?"

The imp gave a quiet giggle and mimicked the act of smoking with one hand, pointing to the weed with the other.

"Oh shit, bro, sorry!" Cruz passed the joint over to Cheech. "My bad, sometimes I just start talkin' and tokin', tokin' and talkin', and I forget to pass!"

Cheech took a long hit off the joint, purring with pleasure as he exhaled. It always made Cruz smile when he heard the imps purr - none of his friends ever believed him when he told them that imps purr. His little secret, then.

"You forgive me, little man?" Cruz asked.

Cheech bared his sharp white teeth in a wolfish grin, nodding rapidly several times. He then flicked the joint high into the air. It arced up over Cruz and was elegantly caught by the imp lying to the teenager's right. Cruz glanced over to his right, raising an eyebrow at his second imp companion. "How 'bout you, Chong, you forgive me too?"

Chong took his own hit off the joint, blowing an appreciative puff of smoke gently into Cruz's face.

Cruz's smile widened. "Thought so. I love you guys, you _understand_. Maybe if the lizard-boys down there paid more attention to you, they'd learn a thing or two."

Chong handed the joint back to Cruz. By now, the joint had burned down to a roach, forcing Cruz to handle it gingerly.

"'Course…'course, you guys were actually pretty damn bloodthirsty before I introduced you to my friend Mary Jane, here…keep forgettin' that..." Cruz murmured, recognizing some of the absurdity in his last statement. "You probs woulda tried to turn 'em into munchies if you weren't high as shit...heh… That sounded ironic… Yo, Cheech, was that ironic?"

Cheech could only shrug.

"Yeah, I'm not sure, either...have to look 'ironic' up in the encyclopictionary...eh, who cares, I thought it was funny…" Cruz shrugged, turning his attention back to the battle raging in the valley below. "Still doesn't help me with my squabbling consorts issue, though. Any ideas, guys?"

Suddenly, Cheech and Chong sprang up to their feet, baring their claws, their purring turning into harsh hissing.

"Aw, no, guys, chill out!" Cruz frowned in confusion, unsure as to why his two companions were acting up, not wanting to have to defend himself from them. He turned away from the cliff edge, getting up to his knees. "C'mon, whats wrong? Don't worry, I got a whole fuckin' pound of Mary in my sylladex! And besides, this place has fields full of weed, we're not in any danger of running out."

Cruz's words did not alleviate the imps' fears. No sooner had he finished speaking did the imps bound forward, sprinting straight towards one of the larger bushes that sat behind where Cruz had been watching the battle. Their hisses had turned into full-on growls.

"Wait, guys, _wait!_" Cruz sprang to his feet, moving to pursue his friends. "Was it something I said? C'mon, _amigos,_ I don't want to be alone again-"

The bush gave a slight rustle. Something shot out of the shrubbery, and Chong suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, falling over backward. There was a small knife embedded in his chest, blood already beginning to stream from the wound. The imp was quite dead.

Cheech gave a furious scream and leaped towards the bush...only to have his scream abruptly cut off when a second throwing knife caught him directly between the eyes with a sickening _thuck_. The imp's body thudded to the ground without any further noise.

Cruz was stunned, speechless, as he gazed at the corpses of his dead companions.

The bush parted to reveal a short figure dressed in a creased, wrinkled black suit. The figure's skin was hard, glossy, and black - a Dersite. He had angular white eyes, sharp teeth, and an expression of pure grouchiness. In his hand, the Dersite held a third knife, this one larger than the first two.

Anger surged through Cruz, knotting in his gut. "_Hijo de puta, cabron,_ no! They were my fucking friends! Why'd you kill them?"

The Dersite rolled his eyes. "Shut up, meatbag," he said. Then, without any warning, he threw his third knife, impaling Cruz right through the throat.

* * *

><p>Gwen Twymann stood balanced on the larboard-bow railing, steadying herself by grabbing hold of a line. She'd seen sailors do this all the time in movies, and it was a lot harder than it looked! Between the salty spray whipping across her face, the breeze plucking at her limbs and clothing, and the risingfalling of the waves, keeping one's balance on the railing was a challenge.

But it was a _fun_ challenge.

Gwen was trying to enjoy the view of the sunset reflecting off the sparkling green waters of the cove, though it was difficult to ignore the tension that was abound among the crew of the _Viridian Wind_. That was because they were making port in the Metropolis, the capital city of the Land of Shores and Prisms. The night before had been spent in total darkness and silence as the corsairs slipped through the patrols of the Metropolis Fleet.

The ramification of this was that the Metropolis was home to the Assembly, which had been described to Gwen as the ruling body of the turtle-consorts. A more powerful and centralized equivalent of the United Nations, if you will. Corsairs were not necessarily welcome, there. But the _Viridian Wind_ had something that would be of supreme interest to the Assembly...the Witch of Light.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

Gwen didn't need to glance over her shoulder to know that it had been Aristophanes who'd just spoken. The first mate of the _Viridian Wind_ spent most of his time with the teenager. They enjoyed playing chess together at night, for example, after the crew went belowdecks. "It's a beautiful city…" Gwen murmured in agreement.

The docks of the Metropolis hugged the coast of the mostly-enclosed cove that the _Viridian Wind_ had sailed into. It was the only part of the city's coastline that was accessible by sea - all the rest had been built along the sheer sea cliffs, or were completely walled off. Gwen could see stone rooftops glittering in the brilliant light of Skaia as it dipped down into the west. Gulls circled round and round in the skies above the harbor.

Yes, it was a beautiful city. It was too bad, Gwen thought, that the harbor smelled like feces.

"Shame about the smell, but some things can't be helped," Aristophanes chuckled, sensing what Gwen was thinking. "I suppose one gets used to it, over time, especially if you lived here. I barely notice it."

Gwen looked at the one-eyed turtle-consort, now. "You lived here?"

Aristophanes nodded. "A lifetime ago, yes. My hope is that you will be able to make the Assembly listen."

"Doesn't sound like they're too keen on listening to corsairs, if half the things I've heard about them are true," Gwen remarked.

"We are not the only corsairs who roam the oceans, Gwen," Aristophanes reminded the teenage girl. "Many of us have done much to tarnish our reputation - the Assembly's prejudices are not entirely unjustified. But I have...connections...with the current Assembly Prefect. And they will not be hearing the rabblings of grungy, windblown, salty corsairs, heavens no! They will instead be listening to the Witch of Light, in the flesh, blood, and bone. A Hero is a tad more difficult to ignore, would you not agree?"

"Makes sense, when you put it that way," Gwen conceded. "But...uh… Okay, when you say 'make the Assembly listen', what exactly am I supposed to be telling them?"

"Convincing them that you are the Witch of Light will be enough," Aristophanes assured her.

A seagull swooped down low, gliding past Gwen's head. It was likely searching for food of some sort. Finding none, it settled for taking a quick poop, splattering the mainmast with white. Several of the nearest consorts hollered curses and swears after the gull as it flew away, knowing that they'd have to clean up the excrement later.

Aristophanes clicked his tongue in irritation as he watched this happen. "Bloody gulls…"

Gwen gave a grunt of agreement, lowering herself down from the railing.

The _Viridian Wind_ dropped anchor in the middle of the cove. Gwen and Aristophanes were then met by the ship's captain, who prepared a skiff for their departure. After bidding the captain farewell, Aristophanes climbed into the skiff with Gwen, lowered them down the side of the ship into the water, and cast off.

The trip to the shore took about half an hour. Gwen was nearly lulled to sleep at one point by the gentle, rhythmic rocking of the tiny boat as it bobbed through the waves. But any traces of sleepiness lurking about in her body were dispelled by the time they reached the harbor of the Metropolis. This was due mostly to the troupe of twenty or so armed guards who had assembled on the dock to greet them.

"You stink of corsair shite!" the guard captain hollered down to the skiff as Aristophanes tied off the mooring lines, going about his work slowly and calmly, paying the armed guards no heed. "State your business in the Metropolis, One-Eye!"

"You obviously have no idea who I am." Aristophanes finished his work, straightening up and stepping out onto the dock. The one-eyed turtle-consort leaned down and extended a hand to Gwen, helping her out of the skiff before turning back to address the guards. "That is a forgivable offense - I can hardly fault you for lacking telepathy. Not asking for my name, however, was very rude of you. One thing you can do to return yourself fully into my good graces is to run along and tell the Assembly that I wish to speak with them. I would very much appreciate that."

"Oh you would, would you?" The guard captain gave a snort of amusement. "Get off my dock, sea-dog, before I have my lads throw you back to the ocean."

Aristophanes dropped a hand to his pistol, drumming a finger on weapon's wooden handle. "I should warn you, my trigger finger grows twitchy when my patience is tested. Tell the Assembly that the first mate of the _Viridian Wind_ requests an audience. And make sure the Prefect hears it."

"_Um...could you not threaten the large group of turtles with swords? Not helping,_" Gwen whispered to the one-eyed consort, quietly enough for the guards to not hear. Her own fingers were twitching as she fought the urge to retrieve her Walther handgun from her strife specibus.

"_Hush, girl,_" Aristophanes murmured right back, maintaining eye contact with the guard captain.

Many of the assembled guards murmured amongst themselves, discord spreading through their ranks. The name 'Viridian Wind' had struck a chord with them. Gwen recalled Aristophanes explaining to her, several days ago, that the _Viridian Wind_ was one of the more infamous vessels of the corsair fleet. He did not appear to have been lying, judging by the guards' reaction.

The guard captain's scaly cheeks blossomed emerald-green in anger. He did not like having his men spooked by a lone opponent. "I don't give a gull's shite what ship you hail from! Get off my dock and leave this harbor at once! I won't warn you again!"

"Then tell the Assembly that the _Witch of Light_ requests audience with them!"

"That's it, you've done it…" the guard captain was already screaming before Aristophanes's last declaration rang in his ears. His voice faltered. "...come again?"

"_Thought that might grab your attention,_" Aristophanes muttered. He stepped aside, gesturing with both hands to Gwen, as if he were showcasing her. Which he was, in a way. "You heard me correctly! This creature is the Witch of Light, the second coming of the Ancient One! And she would very much like to speak to the Assembly." When the guard captain still seemed unsure, Aristophanes pressed further. "Think on this, boys. When the Assembly finds out that the Witch of Light stood upon the docks of the Metropolis - and they _will_ find out - you lot are the ones who will take the blame for barring her entry!"

"How can I be sure she is really the Witch?" the guard captain asked. Gwen hid a smile - the guard captain was actually entertaining the notion that she was a figure of legend in the consorts' mythology. He was no longer telling them to leave. Aristophanes had already won.

"That is for the Assembly to decide," the first mate of the _Viridian Wind_ replied.

The guard captain hesitated for another few moments, but then ordered his men to relax once a decision had been made. "It'll be your death if you are lying, sea-dog."

"_My_ death, not yours."

The guard captain blinked once. "Fair enough. Accompany us, then."

Turtle-consorts started coming out of the woodworks as Gwen and Aristophanes were led through the city, heading towards the inner districts. People watched from upper-floor windows, members of the gentry peeked out from the insides of carriages, beggars blinked and murmured amongst themselves and their fellows in the alleyways.

Already, Gwen's presence had an effect.

Aristophanes said nothing during the walk through the harbor district of the Metropolis, leaving Gwen to her own thoughts. Curiously enough, her thoughts did not wander in the directions they usually wandered. There were no surges of foreign knowledge sweeping into her mind, no questioning commentary, no more analyses…

One of the giant floating prism-rocks drifted across Skaia's position in the sky, causing the daylight to refract. The Metropolis was bathed in a brilliant haze of rainbow. The green waters of the harbor seemed to pop even more. The gulls' frantic aerial circles grew lazy and relaxed.

Gwen inhaled through her nose, found - much to her surprise - that she could smell rain. She could hear it, too, ever so slightly...a noise in the back of her mind. Without trying too hard, Gwen found herself visualizing the Ruins, out in the middle of the lake near Cruz's house. She was with her friends, again…

How very much she missed her friends, Gwen realized. Going out to the mall with Anna, rolling her eyes as her usually-inebriated friend flirted with all the good-looking guys who worked in the food court. Anna would always get free lattes from the Starbucks. Or breaking into the practice rooms at school with Tami Abramov and playing impromptu Mozart duets on the orchestra instruments - they were always kept locked away, the strings instruments, but Tami had a way with politely asking locks to open when they did not want to. She missed Cruz, his goofy smiles, and his laugh, which could easily be picked out in an entire room full of laughing people.

Gwen did not know Cass or Adam very well, but she'd joined in on her friends' betting pool on how long it would take Adam to ask his longtime crush out on a date. She knew Theo had hijacked Adam's phone and set the date up without his knowledge...but what had come of it? Anna had told Gwen that she was going to try and get Adam to convince Cass to skip class and go out to lunch...but had he succeeded? Had they actually gone out? Would Gwen ever find out?

And Gino… Gwen's spine tingled as Gino Caiazzo entered into her imagination, his yellow eyes that he tried so hard to hide from the world, and his-

"Something wrong, Gwen?"

Gwen blinked once, realized that her face was wet. She had been crying quietly, and Aristophanes had noticed. The older, one-eyed turtle-consort was looking at her, concern etched across his face. "Sorry, um…" Gwen wiped the tears from her face, regaining her composure. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"It is common for the emotions to be stirred and tugged during a Total Refraction," Aristophanes explained to Gwen, gesturing with his head to the sky, specifically to the colossal chunk of prism that was passing in front of Skaia. "Tell me, if you do not mind sharing...where did your mind just go?"

Gwen looked surprised at the turtle-consort's question. "What does it matter to you?"

"You could say I am a 'sap' for the softer aspects of life. Life spent constantly on the sea is what I chose, but there are times when it grows difficult."

"Well…" Gwen did not see much harm in sharing with Aristophanes what she'd experienced, though she would much rather have done it without having a whole troop of guards so closeby. So she did not go into too much detail, but shared what she was comfortable sharing.

Aristophanes could tell she was holding back, but it did not matter to him. He was grateful, nonetheless. "Adam, Cass, Gino...who are they? Friends of yours? From your own home?"

"Sort of...well…" Gwen swallowed painfully. "Yes, they're my friends. All I've got left, really. Everyone else from back home is…"

"I understand." Aristophanes nodded, knowing when to ease off. "I apologize if pain was caused from giving voice to these memories, but in my experience I find that 'silence' honors nothing. Your friends...they are the other seven Heroes, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"I would very much like to hear more about them, sometime when you are in a divulgatory mood," Aristophanes said. "And about you, as well. All the legends surrounding the Witch of Light are very fascinating...but they do not, for example, tell me what the Witch's favorite color is. There is much that can only be gleaned through good conversation."

The Assembly chambers were located in a building in the center of the city. The building was actually rather small - very geometric architecture, lots of triangles and columns. It looked like a miniature Parthenon. At least, that's what Gwen was reminded of. She felt like voicing this opinion, but ultimately decided not to bother.

None of the turtle-consorts would know what the Parthenon was. Gwen was the only one on the planet who knew what the Parthenon was. Now, there was a lonely thought.

It took nearly ten minutes for the guard captain to re-emerge from the chambers, but when he did, he signalled for Aristophanes and Gwen to enter. "Good fortune, sea-dog," he leered at the one-eyed consort. "You'll need it."

"It never left me, slave," Aristophanes glibly replied. And with that, he and Gwen ducked inside before they could catch the guard captain's explosive reaction. They were intercepted by four more guards who wore a different uniform and had their shells painted with a different pattern from the members of the Guard from the docks. These guards said nothing, merely accompanied Aristophanes as he led the way down the entrance corridor straight to the opposite doorway.

Through the doorway, there was a garden - one of the most beautiful Gwen had ever seen. There were flowers and plants of all different colors, trees bearing fruit that smelled even better than peaches, Gwen's favorite. The procession walked through the garden and into another corridor, at the end of which lay the Assembly's central chambers.

Gwen was sensing an overall theme of centrism going on, here. How very like light, it all seemed - the most important part of something being located directly in the center, its influence radiating outward like a sun. Everything in the Metropolis seemed to follow this order. Gwen was starting to see how tempting the freedom offered by the ocean would be to those consorts who'd chosen the life of the corsair.

The main chamber was actually nothing too special. It contained muraled walls depicting important events in the history of these turtle-consorts - or so Gwen assumed. There was a mural showing a whole bunch of consorts raising a crude, much older version of what appeared to be this very building. There was another showing a handful of naval vessels holding a staunch defensive line at the mouth of the harbor against a much larger force of marauder ships.

But there were two murals that caught Gwen's attention the most. One was a depiction of a corsair ship arriving in the Metropolis - a one-eyed corsair bearing a dark-skinned human infant in his arms while all the other consorts in the mural bowed. And the other showed presumably that same human - a boy, now in his adolescence, strikingly familiar to Gwen - balancing on the foremast of a flying ship, searing white light shining from his fists even while the sky all around him grew dark and fiery.

"That one is my favorite, as well," Aristophanes whispered over to Gwen, noticing her looking at that last mural. "The boy is the Ancient One, the Noble of Light, who could be said to have been your predecessor. He is leading the old fleet against the darkness - this was called the Cataclysm. But it is a story for another time."

In the middle of the chamber was a simple, teardrop-shaped table. Seated around this table were thirteen older turtle-consorts, all of whom bore varying reactions to a corsair striding into their chambers, ranging from discontent to blatant outrage. The consort sitting at the 'tip' of the teardrop seemed to be the one in charge of the proceedings - he had fading green skin that had likely once been a vibrant emerald in his youth, a shiny burnt-orange shell that seemed to be polished to the point of appearing like lacquer, and neutral stormy-gray eyes.

"You have courage, little brother, showing your face in this city after the way you left," the head turtle-consort declared, his gaze boring straight into Aristophanes. "Though to march right into our very chambers…? Such could be construed more as an act of lunacy, rather than courage. Tell me...how do you intend on leaving this place with your head still on your shoulders?"

Gwen's stomach sank an inch or two - she'd been hoping for a greeting that was significantly less frosty. Then the significance of what the head consort had just said sank in. Her forehead creasing in a sudden frown, Gwen glanced sharply over to Aristophanes. "Did he just call you…?"

"Yes, Gwen. I would like to introduce you to Alexander, my older brother." Aristophanes gestured to the consort at the opposite end of the table, ignoring the older consort's question. "Alexander...this is the Witch of Light."

"You will refer to me as 'Prefect', little brother," the head consort, Alexander, commanded. "You gave up the right to use my birth name when you abandoned us in favor of those knowledge-stealers."

Aristophanes gave a quiet sigh, too quiet to be heard. "As you wish, Prefect. Though, much as I would love to dig up the past and have a rousing back-and-forth with you, like the old days, this is not why I have come. As I said, I would like to introduce the Witch of Light."

"So you have claimed."

"I sensed the Truth about her when we first met," Aristophanes argued. "She learned her true nature from a Sprite, just like the Ancient One. Light never lies, and she shines with it..."

Gwen started tuning the arguing brothers out. She'd been expecting this moment for a long time, actually, a moment where she would have to provide some form of proof that she was a Hero. But how to prove an intangible? Well, there _was_ one tool Gwen had at her disposal...and so, while Aristophanes and Alexander quarreled, Gwen allowed her thoughts to wander.

Almost immediately, the knowledge began to flow.

_The Assembly. Comprising of thirteen members. Twelve representatives from the six different city-states of the consorts of the Land of Shores and Prisms - two representatives from each. The thirteenth member serves as the Prefect, who holds executive power, rather than legislative. The Prefect is chosen by election from the city-states themselves, leading to many disputes and conflicts in the past involving various city-states forming tenuous alliances in order to push forward a candidate of their own choosing-_

Gwen blinked once, trying to shift her focus from the inner workings of the turtle-consort government. It was all very interesting to her...but not exactly helpful, at the moment. Her ADHD served only to make things for difficult. She kept the Assembly in her thoughts, but now tried a different approach.

_The Assembly. Comprising of twelve state representatives, united by the Prefect. The current Prefect of the Land of Shores and Prisms: Alexander of Kapri. Current Representatives from Cavens: Telemechon of-_

Gwen blinked again. God, she wished she had her Vyvanse…this wasn't working. But then an image popped into her mind...the mural, the one with the Ancient One on the ship...

_The Noble of Light. Notable in the mythologies of the turtle-consorts of the Land of Shores and Prisms. Participated in the War of the Nobles, which was prematurely ended by what consorts refer to as the 'Cataclysm'. Also notable for the creation of 'Library of All' for eventual use by future generations. Established the first Assembly and brought the turtle-consort city-states into a mutual confederation. Left the key to the location of the Library in the care of the Assembly, though did not grant them access to it. Access to the Library is meant not for the consorts, but for the Witch of Light and any other Hero who might-_

Bingo.

Gwen was still a little bit surprised. She had _not_ been expecting that to work. Knowledge was much more accessible and focused when in the presence of others, it seemed...but Gwen knew she had no time to examine this any deeper, not right now.

"Okay, turtle-boys, hold the fuck up! What's the Library of All?" Gwen interrupted, cutting both brothers off mid-argument. Silence fell over the room. Even Aristophanes gave a start of surprise.

Alexander finally cleared his throat uncomfortably and spoke. "You unearth the Assembly's sensitive secrets, little brother, and immediately you begin singing them to the winds for all to hear?" the Prefect accused Aristophanes.

"Not _that_ secret, no." Aristophanes shook his head.

"Okay, so obviously it's super-important, this Library." Gwen quickly seized back control of the conversation. "Did you guys know that it was meant for me, _not_ you? Huh? Was _that_ a secret, too-"

"Silence, girl," Aristophanes growled in warning. But it was too late.

"_Guards!_" Alexander clamored, rising abruptly from his chair. Immediately, no less than a dozen heavily-armed soldiers poured into the chamber from adjacent doorways, spears and pistols at the ready. Aristophanes's hands twitched, aching to draw his weapons, but even he knew that he would not stand a chance against such odds. "Arrest the two outsiders, lock them in the dungeons below."

"You would imprison a Hero of Legend, brother?" Surprise was evident in Aristophanes's voice - Gwen did not think he had actually expected this to happen. "Have you taken leave of your senses? When word of this gets out-"

"Still your fucking tongue, little brother, for once in your wretched life!" Alexander snapped, cutting Aristophanes off mid-sentence. "There are other secrets, ones that even you, in your self-proclaimed infinite wisdom, do not know. Secrets that would ruin all of us if ever they were to be made known to the public. Guards, away with them!"

Gwen's first impulse was to retrieve her Walther from her strife specibus, but Aristophanes somehow knew what she was about to do before she could actually do it. He shook his head sharply, grasping Gwen's wrist. "No, Gwen. You will not win your consorts over by blowing holes in their heads. We will play the waiting game, instead."

Gwen had no response, did not even know what to think as her arms were pulled behind her, irons clapped onto her wrists. Well, no, that actually was not entirely true - she _was_ thinking something.

_I'm being arrested by turtles,_ the voice in Gwen's head was saying, scarcely able to believe the story being relayed to it by her eyes and ears. _I am being arrested...by fucking turtles. Seriously, what the fuck? What kind of bullshit quest is this?_

* * *

><p>"<em>Shit.<em>" Cruz could only swear as he watched his throat begin to bleed in the mirror. The pain was already beginning to blossom around his Adam's apple, a tiny point of white-hot searing fire that was beginning to consume his neck.

Cruz only had fuzzy, fleeting memories of how he'd woken up here in his dream room on Prospit's moon...but he remembered enough to know that he was in big trouble. If he remembered correctly…

But why was he feeling the same pain here? Why was his dream self suffering from the same wound his waking self had just sustained? Cruz did not know. All he knew was that this was how it worked - waking self gets stabbed, waking self dies, dream self wakes up...and eventually dream self dies from the same wound. Unless…

Cruz staggered over to the nearest window sill, gasping for breath as the pain in his neck grew worse. More blood was beginning to drip.

His corpse...yes, his _corpse_ - there was no way he could have survived taking that knife to the throat - would need to be kissed by another Hero in order for his dream self to survive. In order for _him_ to survive. Cruz realized that he was, in a way, no longer his dream self. His dream self had just become his only remaining body. And if he did not act fast…

Cruz's thoughts were racing. How could someone get to his body in time?

_Think, man, think...c'mon…_ Okay, if Adam could pass through his second gate, he would end up getting transported to LOLAS. Adam could find Cruz's body and… _No, stupid, stupid, no, that won't work!_ Adam was too far away from his house to be of any help - apparently he was traveling into a desert, or some shit, trying to unite his consorts against his Denizen...no help there.

If only he had more time…

Time.

_Mierda, that's it!_ That last thought sent an electric jolt through Cruz's body as he realized what his last hope was. Or, rather, as he realized _who_ his last hope was. Thank god she was a Prospit dreamer…Cruz could only hope she was in her tower, today. She disappeared so often, there was no way of telling where she went all the time, no way of contacting her...

Cruz wasted no time in leaping out his window, shooting straight forward through the sky. Good thing he'd been flying around Prospit since he was tiny - he never would've made it, otherwise.

Flying grew more and more difficult. The pain in Cruz's throat was agony, at this point. His eyes teared up, blurring his vision, but he forced himself to remain on a straight trajectory. It got to the point where he could barely even see where he was going - he was flying solely on his instinctual memory of which direction his destination lay in.

The blood was flowing freely, now. Cruz had to hold a hand to his throat to keep himself from bleeding out. It helped a little, but not much. He was sobbing from the pain by the time he reached Anna's dream tower, delirious…

Because of his blurred vision, Cruz actually missed Anna's window. He struck the side of the window, sending stars shooting through his vision. He barely felt the impact - the agony piercing through his throat was blinding out everything else. He was not sure which was worse - having a knife impale his throat, or feeling the wound be created unnaturally slowly, in excruciating detail.

He decided that the latter was much, _much_ worse.

Fortunately, Cruz's impact sent him spinning straight into Anna's dream bedroom, where he landed in a heap on the carpet.

Anna was sitting at her desk when Cruz came barreling in. She barely had time to yelp in surprise, rescuing her bottle of Malibu Black from her bed before Cruz knocked into it. "Cruz! What the hell, you're bleeding all over my floor!"

Cruz opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was more blood and unintelligible gurgling noises.

Anna held up a hand, shushing him, taking a quick swig of rum before saying, "Stop it, just stop. You're making an even bigger mess. What the hell happened to you? Wait, actually, no...no, don't answer that. You'll just get more blood on my floor...gosh, that's a lot of blood...um… Okay, you're probs here to ask me to go back in time, find your body, an' have smoochey-time with it? Keep you from becomin' a full-time cadaver? Yeah? Okay, hold on…"

The slightly-inebriated teenaged girl stepped lightly over Cruz's thrashing form, gingerly opening her desk drawer and taking out her treasured pink journal. Normally she would write her deepest darkest secrets into this book, but that was not what she had in mind, this time. Instead, she flipped straight back to the final page, where she had scrawled a 'things to do list'.

Underneath '**START UPRISING SHIZZ WITH ADAMS PAST SNAKE BUDDIEEEZ**', and '**PUT JACK TO SLEEP AND DO THE TIMELINE JINX THINGAMABOb**' Anna wrote, '**MAKE OUT WIT CRUZS DEAD BOD EWWW**'.

The relief was immediate. Cruz's throat stopped bleeding, and the pain subsided. He blinked several times, wiping the tears from his eyes, sitting upright, getting his bearings. "Shit...uh… Hey, Anna...um...how ya been, girl?"

"Been better," Anna closed her notebook, put it back into the drawer, closed the drawer. "Saw I needed to be in my tower today, so here I come...an' then...an' then I jus' get a faceful of Cruz witha bleedin' neck. I've been better."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Cruz apologized, getting back to his feet. "You were kinda my last hope, here… Sorry 'bout your carpet, didn't mean to bleed all over it."

"Eh...don' worry 'bout it, Cruz, I can't stay mad at you…"

"So...uh...how'd, uh...you didn't time travel. I didn't see you time travel. How'd you go back and…?"

"Oh, I went back, alright...just 'not yet', from our perspective," Anna replied. She rapped a knuckle against the drawer she kept her journal in. "Figured out that if I jus' write shit out an' keep track of it, I can jus' fix shit later. Newsflash? Bein' a Hero of Time _sucks_. But if you're fishin' for a silver lining-"

"Ooh, yeah, I fuckin' _love_ silver linings."

Anna continued to speak, ignoring the interruption. "-if you're fishin' for a silver lining, it's that procrastination really doesn't exist, not really, not when you exist four-dimensionally."

"Uh...cool…"

"Still sucks, though. You wanna drink?"

Cruz blinked once. "I just got stabbed in the fuckin' throat - fuck _yes,_ I want a drink. And keep 'em coming."


	63. V Chapter 63: Cloak and Diamonds

Chapter Sixty-Three: Cloak and Diamonds

Two weeks.

The Draconian Dignitary's mood grew more sour with each passing day. He hated this. He hated the Land of Rain and Rivers and its never-ending precipitation. He hated the cobra-consorts and their ridiculous customs. The Dignitary was not happy - that much, at least, was perfectly obvious.

But he was patient. For two weeks, he had watched the Knight of Force stumble and blunder his way through what passed for his quest. The Dignitary observed from a distance as the black-haired kid was made to climb up a ladder of sword blades. He watched the kid travel for days through the Knightswood forest, accidentally knocking trees over with his failed attempts to master his Aspect.

For someone who carried the Aspect of Movement, this kid sure was a klutz. And if the Dignitary had to spend one more night listening to him moan and whine about this 'Cass' broad…

Well, at least he would no longer have to, not after tonight.

The red-scaled cobra-consort who traveled with the Knight was a heavy sleeper, and an angry morning person. Sometimes the Knight practiced with his Aspect during the night - the black-haired kid would cause explosions that would rattle the trees, sending off blasts of flame into the air. The red-scaled cobra-consort would not even twitch in his sleep. He was difficult to wake from a deep slumber.

That would be vital.

When the kid went to bed, he was a heavy sleeper, too. He was a Hero - that meant he had a dream self on Prospit that he woke up as every time he passed out. He would not be fluttering on the edge of consciousness. The Dignitary came to these conclusions within three days of observing the two companions. But he was patient.

It was not until tonight that the Dignitary chose to make his move. There were other forces at work with whom he was coordinating, and tonight the metaphorical planets appeared to be lining up. He shifted uncomfortably in his makeshift observation post - really just a fork in the upper branches of a large tree. The rain had increased in intensity, tonight, bringing a somewhat chilly wind through the forest. The Dignitary was not too wet, thanks to the clear plastic poncho he had the foresight to bring...but even the rain gear couldn't stop the feeling dampness from penetrating his normally-immaculate suit.

The Dignitary waited quietly while the Knight fell asleep, zooming his binoculars in so that he could see the Hero of Force's breathing. Once the rising and falling of the black-haired kid's chest fell into a rhythm that suggested deep sleep, the Dignitary brought a long-range walkie-talkie up to his mouth and broke silence. "Hearts, this is Diamonds. Come in, Hearts."

There were a few moments of subdued static over the channel, but it quickly resolved into a gruff, somewhat nasally voice. "_What's up, D?_"

The Dignitary let out a muted sigh, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "You know perfectly well 'what is up'. Are you in position?"

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm just outside the Knight's dream bedroom,_" the Hegemonic Brute responded. "_Been hidin' out in this tower for two days. It's real fuckin' stuffy in here…mm...okay, looks like the Knight's dream self is awake. Kid's sittin' at his desk, looks pretty oblivious to me. You want I should go an' snap his neck? Or strangle him, maybe? Or how's about I brain him with my axe?_"

"Yes, please do," the Dignitary ordered the Brute. "Any or all of the above, if you will. Just make sure he is not breathing when you are finished."

"_You got it, D._"

"Report back to me when you're done, please."

"_Yeah, sure_."

And with that, the channel went dead. The Dignitary pocketed the walkie-talkie, muttering under his breath about IQ tests. Yes, the Hegemonic Brute was quite accomplished when it came to carrying out brutal tasks. But that was about it. Ask him to add two and two, he would simply bash them together and come up with 'bruise'.

The Draconian Dignitary stowed his binoculars in favor of one of his favorite weapons - a sturdy length of thin steel wire. He climbed down the tree, taking care not to make too much noise as he hopped down to the forest floor. It would not have made much of a difference if he _had_ made noise - again, the Knight and his companion were heavy sleepers - but the Dignitary was going to leave nothing to chance. Leaving things to chance was not his style.

As it was, his efforts here hinged largely on the competence of the Hegemonic Brute, who had been sent to Prospit. The Dignitary did not feel good about this, not one bit. He would have preferred the Queen to send someone else to waste the Knight's dream self. Even the Courtyard Droll - oblivious, irritating, always dancing - would have sufficed. Anyone but the Brute…

No time for those kinds of thoughts, now. It was time for work.

The Dignitary gingerly looped the garrote wire around his hands twice, ensuring a strong grip, whilst he tiptoed stealthily around the Knight's sleeping form. He then crouched down to the ground, gently brought the garrote wire around the Knight's neck, took a deep breath...and then pulled the garrote tight, sending the thin steel wire biting into the Hero's throat.

The Knight did not immediately wake up. The Dignitary was expecting that - the Brute was obviously keeping the Knight's dream self busy. But it did not last. Within ten seconds, the Knight's eyes had flown open and his hands flew to his throat, desperately trying to figure out why, all of a sudden, he could not breathe. Then the initial shock of the Dignitary's unconventional wake-up call passed, and the Knight started fighting back.

The kid managed to struggle his way up onto his knees. The Dignitary grunted in pain as the Knight drove an elbow into the Dersite Agent's abdomen, nearly knocking the wind out of him. The blow, however, while painful, did not have a lot of power or force behind it - it had been more of a blind, desperate strike. Easily shrugged off. Still, the Dignitary had no wish to become a punching bag, and so he pulled the garrote wire harder, stepping as far back as he could. Blood was beginning to flow down the Knight's neck as the wire did its grisly work.

An oversized hunting knife appeared in the Knight's right hand, and the Hero struck back with it, attempting to gut his attacker then and there. The Dignitary saw it coming from a mile away, however, and easily evaded it.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be what the Knight was hoping for. The moment the Dignitary shifted his balance to avoid the knife blow, the Knight dropped back to the ground and, with a single foot, swept the Dignitary's legs out from under him. The Dignitary went down hard, losing his grip on the garrote.

The Knight gasped for breath for several moments before remembering that he had a voice. "_Scales!_" he cried out. "_Scales, wake the fuck up!_"

"_Go sstick your head on a pike. Let me ssleep._" The grouchy response had come from the slightly-awake red-scaled consort, who made no move to make the remaining leap required to return to full consciousness.

The Dignitary bit back a whole slough of profanity as he recovered from getting knocked to the grass. His garrote lost, the Dignitary resorted to his backup weapon, which had been a favorite of his, back in the old days...nostalgic memories of assassinations carried out during the long-past War of the Nobles came to him as he reached into an inner pocket and pulled out his prized black cigarette lighter.

When the cap was popped off the lighter, it suddenly expanded, elongated, grew into a black spear with a red point that was shaped like a diamond. While the Knight called out for his consort friend's help, the Dignitary sprang back up to his feet, now armed with his trademark spear, and went back on the offensive. He aimed his first thrust straight into the Knight's torso, but the damned kid was too fast. He dropped back to the ground, barely avoiding the attack.

The Dignitary was quick to recover. He shifted the spear's momentum, drawing it up and back in preparation for a downward thrust, intending to skewer the Knight where he lay. He almost succeeded - the red diamond speartip was barely inches away from the Knight's chest when, abruptly, it stopped. The Dignitary swore under his breath, adjusting his posture, throwing every last bit of strength he had into this last attack. The spear slowly started moving forward again, but it was like trying to force it through stone - the kid was using his Aspect. The telekinetic part of it. He was blocking the spear.

This was not good. If the Dignitary did not end this now, he would lose too much strength. For a moment he locked eyes with the Knight. The kid had big, frightened eyes with red irises. But there was a hidden strength in there that the Dignitary could see - sure, the kid was scared, but he was never going to give up. And so, the Dignitary did what he did best - he continued to play dirty.

The Dignitary planted his right foot. He then swung his left forward and kicked the Knight right between the legs. The kid let out a howl of pain. That was good - the Dignitary remembered, from his days spent hunting down the last of the Nobles, that the male Heroes were especially sensitive in that region of the body. The Dignitary's spear was blasted back, disrupting his deathblow, but it was of little concern.

The Dignitary brought his spear down a second time into the fallen Knight, who had curled up into the fetal position, clutching himself. This time, the Dignitary's strike was true, successfully - _**CLUNK.**_

The Dignitary could already taste the victory, was already thinking of how he was going to word his report back to the Queen, when a sword blade came whistling out of the darkness and slammed into his spear, knocking his blow to the side. The Dignitary's spear plunged into the ground next to the Knight. The Dignitary turned to face the new attacker - he had barely a moment to register the tip of a red-scaled tail whipping towards him before it struck him in the side of his head, throwing him off-balance, sending stars shooting through his vision.

The red-scaled cobra-consort was awake, and he was not too happy at what he found - a strange person trying to kill his companion. The Dignitary seized his spear and wrenched it free from the earth, bringing it up in defense just in time to block a second sword strike - the sword seemed to float in midair, held by the telekinetic grip of the consort.

The Dignitary knew when the throw in the towel. This battle was lost, and the Dignitary had no intention of meeting a premature death on this rainy sewer of a planet. After blocking the consort's second strike, the Dignitary turned around and fled, running as fast as he could, putting a fair amount of distance between himself and his would-be victims.

Never had he been in so black a mood, not for a very long time. As he made his way through the trees, weaving through and around the dense forest of the Knightswood, the Dignitary returned his spear to its lighter form and pocketed it, pulling his walkie-talkie back out. To his surprise, he could already hear the Hegemonic Brute speaking over the channel.

"_...an' he sorta blew half his bedroom up, the little shitstain,_" the Brute was explaining. "_Force of the explosion blew 'im way out into the sky, an' he flew off! I can't fly, boss, and I don't have guns anymore. You never let me use 'em. Wasn't no way for me to pick him off! Probably went to the Life bitch's tower. He was bleedin' out. I can go there now, if you want-_"

"_No, Brute, you'll just get yourself killed,_" the gravelly tones of Jack Noir issued through the walkie-talkie.

The Dignitary depressed the 'transmit' button and spoke. "This is Diamonds, reporting in. My attempt on the Knight's life was unsuccessful. I will remain out of sight and pursue-"

"_No, Double-D, fuck the old plan,_" Noir's voice interrupted the Dignitary."_The Knight lives, for now. Come back home._"

The Dignitary frowned. "All due respect, I have been tracking this Hero for two weeks, now. He belongs to me. I would prefer-"

"_I don't give a turtle-consort's shit what you prefer, Double-D. You lost this one, and now you're out of time,_" Jack Noir's biting reply was. "_We're gonna need you back home right away - Bitch's orders._"

"The Queen's orders?"

"_Yeah, that's what I said. All that rain making you deaf?_"

"Not at all."

"_Good. Now get off this channel and get home. That goes for you, too, Brute. We're going Prince-hunting._"

The channel went dead once more. The Dignitary slipped it back into his pocket. He cast a single glance over his shoulder, back in the direction of the prey he was being forced to let escape. He would have to vent his rage upon another Hero, now.

Without another word, the Dignitary stalked off into the night.

* * *

><p>Lightning flashed over the labyrinthine canyon that stretched all the way to the horizon, as far as the eye could see. In the middle of the twisting, turning gorges and valleys rose a beautiful, majestic structure that had a shape which was difficult to describe. It looked less like a palace and more like a giant concert hall.<p>

Tami Abramov stared down at the canyon from the mountaintop she was currently standing on, offering her a breathtaking view.

"That's it down there?" Tami did her best to keep the uncertainty from her voice, but she was only partially successful.

"Yes, that's the Denizen's Palace," Amadeusprite squeaked. Unlike Tami, who was trying to keep her cool, her green spritified mouse made no attempt to hide his unease. His whiskers kept twitching anxiously, his ears constantly moving, trying to pick up any kind of sound. "Hemera sleeps there."

"Hemera's Palace…" Tami murmured, still staring down at the canyon below. "Looks like the Sydney Opera House…" To be perfectly honest, the architecture of Hemera's Palace looked more like the wide-open maw of a shark...being swallowed by the maw of a larger shark, which in turn was about to be gulped down by a third maw that was larger still.

But the 'Sydney Opera House' imagery was much less disturbing, so that's what Tami stuck with.

"Please Tami please, we go home now? This place is...is..._dangerous_." Amadeusprite's English improved with each passing day. The sprite-mouse was able to put together coherent sentences, and his vocabulary was expanding. "Hemera should be sleeping. Let her sleep. You don't want her awake."

"We can't go back home, Amadeus." Tami let out a quiet sigh. "Even if I wanted to...don't have enough water to make it back across that desert. No, forward's the only option here."


	64. V Chapter 64: Denizen

Chapter Sixty-Four: Denizen

Tami Abramov had to dive behind a boulder to avoid getting roasted. This was starting to get old.

"Amadeus!" Tami had to scream to be heard over the roaring flames that were engulfing the other side of the rock she was hunkered down behind. "How many!"

The fire ceased, gave way to the sound of wingbeats. Tami had about five seconds before the wyrm wised up and decided to charbroil the boulder from above, which would incinerate her.

"_Three!_" The high-pitched, childlike voice of Amadeusprite shouted back. "_Are you okay?_"

"Lasers, Amadeus! Lasers!"

"_Okay!_"

Tami heard several energy blasts coming from higher up in the sky, followed by screeches of anger from the aggravated wyrms as they turned to face their attacker. That was her cue. Tami's composite bow was already in her hands, fresh from the strife specibus, her quiver appearing on her back. The number 'three' burned into her mind, Tami took a deep breath and nocked her first arrow. Then she broke cover.

Tami's first arrow caught the nearest wyrm in the soft part of its throat. The winged underling went down without a sound, its body dissolving into a shower of grist. Tami whisked a second arrow from her quiver, drew back her bow, fired it at the next underling, struck it in the chest. It was not a lethal hit, but the wyrm went down, unable to continue flying.

Wyrm Number Three had already twisted around and was gunning straight for Tami. The teenaged girl did not blink, nocked her third arrow. The underling opened its jaws wide and roared, fire cascading forward. Tami loosed the third arrow, sending it into the underling's mouth and straight through its brain. She was singed from the blast of fire, wincing as she was pelted by a sudden hail of grist as the wyrm's body transmuted mid-lunge.

Good thing Tami's hair was short, otherwise it likely would have caught fire. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt, as well, due to the heat from the desert she'd walked through, so there hadn't been any stray pieces of clothing that had caught fire, either. She was very fortunate. But the only thought going through her head was how proud her brother would have been, had he witnessed those three shots.

_Tash_… Tami's older brother, who'd taught her to shoot…how to play the violin, the piano, and so many other things… Where was he right now?

The grist glowed green before vanishing into Tami's grist cache, bringing her back to the present. She stepped over to the second wyrm, which was still struggling feebly on the rock ground. Tami seized her second arrow, tore it free from the underling's chest. She then plunged it into the wyrm's temple, her stomach turning as she felt the crunch of bone, the sickening squelch of brain matter. More grist, more green flashes.

"That," Tami said, wiping the blood off the used arrow and returning it to her quiver, "was too close. Way too close… Amadeus? You alright, lil' guy?"

The sprite-mouse fluttered back down to ground level, his eyes wide, his aura flickering with erratic sparks of emerald energy. "I'm scared."

"Yeah, me too. These wyrms are bad news-"

More howls echoed off the canyon walls.

Tami swore under her breath. For the past three or so hours, Amadeusprite had been leading her through this canyon. Little did the both of them know that it was home to an entire swarm of winged, firebreathing underlings. Every time they attacked, they got a little bit closer to burning Tami and her sprite to a crisp. This was the first time three had attacked at once...and from the sounds echoing off the canyon walls, an even larger group was on the way.

The underlings were learning from the mistakes of their deceased brethren, gradually figuring out that Tami would not be able to shoot down an entire horde of them.

"Palace up ahead! We move now!" Amadeusprite screeched.

Girl and Sprite got moving.

* * *

><p>There was music coming from deep inside the palace.<p>

Tami slammed the entrance doors shut with a resounding _**BOOM**_. The angry howls of the dozen or so wyrms on the other side were suddenly cut off, the sound unable to penetrate the thickness of the doors. Silence fell over the giant entrance hall, save for the soft, lilting tones of a distant violin.

"Fuck…" Tami breathed deeply, resting against the doors for a moment, catching her breath. "God damn, Amadeus… Why does everything on my own planet want me dead?"

Amadeusprite hovered close, nuzzling Tami's hand with his snout. "I don't want you dead."

"_Aw, _that's very sweet of you..." Tami allowed herself a wan smile as she scratched her sprite behind his ears, before straightening up and stepping away from the door. "No turning back, now. For real. Unless we want to get the toasted marshmallow treatment…"

"Follow the music?" Amadeusprite suggested.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

The sound of the violin was almost magnetic to Tami. The more she listened to it, the more she wanted to find its source. At the other end of the entrance hall was a flight of stairs that spiraled down, deep underground. Tami and Amadeusprite descended these stairs, Tami moving faster and faster, wanting to reach the music.

At the bottom of the stairs, the corridor split in two - one passage curving off to the left, the other continuing straight. Tami took the left-hand corridor. The violin music was coming from that direction. There was no light in the corridor, forcing Tami to slow down. Eventually she had to stop, could not see anything, not even with the the glow of Amadeusprite's body. She pulled out her iphone, searched for its flashlight app.

The music had grown louder, beckoning her to continue.

Tami could not quite put her finger on the exact reason why she was so drawn to this music...perhaps it was because her planet was one that was shrouded in silence? And ever since what had happened with Gino…

Tami's stomach turned once again, unpleasant memories springing back to the surface. Gino's bloodied corpse, his half-open eyes… After kissing her ex-boyfriend's body to revive his dream self, Tami had buried it in the sand dunes. She refused to let it bloat and rot in the desert sun-

Tami shook her head several times, allowing the violin music to clear those troubling thoughts away. She found the flashlight app, tapped it.

A skittering up ahead in the darkness.

Amadeusprite let out a piercing shriek, sent a bolt of crackling green sprite energy searing into the hallway ahead. It exploded on impact, the close quarters of the corridor amplifying the sound to a much greater degree than what it would have been had it occurred out in the open.

"Jesus, Amadeus!" Tami held up her iphone, which was now shining light from its camera flash, illuminating the path ahead. There was a smoking crater in the wall where the sprite's blast had landed, as well as the remains of a tiny charred skeleton. "You just vaporized a mouse."

"We aren't related." Amadeusprite squeaked. "I'm nervous."

"Gee, you think?" Tami nudged the skeleton out of the way with the toe of her boot. It crumbled to ash. "Calm down, okay? I'd rather Hemera's first impression of me not involve blowing holes in her home. That's not a good first impression."

"Sorry."

The corridor had a gradual incline. It was curved, as well, which meant that Tami and Amadeusprite were walking up a gentle spiral. Within two minutes, the passageway began to brighten with soft lamplight. The light grew brighter and brighter until, suddenly, the corridor ended.

When Tami stepped out into the concert hall, it was simultaneously underwhelming and overwhelming. Underwhelming because she and Amadeusprite had just strolled right on through this palace unchallenged - for all the hype that had been built up around the Denizens...well, Tami had been expecting something a lot more dangerous and life-threatening. Though she only had to think back to her narrow escape from the wyrms outside to quell the 'underwhelmed' reaction.

On the other hand, Tami was absolutely floored by how beautiful this concert hall underneath the palace was. It was stunning. Rows upon rows of seats, red velvet carpeting running all the way down the aisles to the stage, a mezzanine, and booths high up on the side walls of the space...there was even a blue crystal chandelier hanging from the lacquered ceiling, providing much of the light in the hall. Tami almost expected a masked man to appear and start singing 'Angel of Music'. The person onstage playing the music was not wearing a mask, however.

Standing in the middle of the stage was a tall figure, playing a bluish-white crystal violin with strings that looked like they were made out of light. She had the face and body of a woman, clad in a cloak of glimmering gold, but her skin seemed almost...scaly. It glowed with a pale blue-green aura and shimmered when the woman moved, almost like one of those holographic cards that changed when looked at from different angles. The aura of light pulsed and flared in rhythm with the music of the violin.

Most unusual, perhaps, about the woman was her eyes. They had no pupils or irises, no whites...they were two orbs of bright neon-green light that were difficult to look directly into without tearing up.

The music was enrapturing, full of sharp notes and minor chord progressions. That was one thing Tami absolutely adored about violins - the ability to play an entire chord several times over in a single upstroke or downstroke merely by shifting the position of her fingers a few centimeters.

The music stopped.

"Hello, Miss Abramov." The woman's voice was soft and light. The feeling of a velvet pillow sprang to mind. Or the lining of a coffin. Tami chose to stick with 'velvet pillow'. "I have been waiting."

"Ah." Tami had been hesitant at the last moment, debating whether or not she should approach the stage and interrupt the violinist, but she had already been noticed. Too late to turn back. "Are you Hemera?"

"I have many names. But the consorts who once dwelt here called me 'Hemera', yes."

"_Simple 'yes' would've sufficed_…"

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing. Um. Aren't you supposed to be...erm...sleeping? Or whatever? My sprite said-"

"Sprites are highly knowledgeable creatures, are they not?" Hemera mused, stopping her music to smile at Amadeusprite, whose aura flared a hostile lemon-lime. "They are not, however, omniscient. You would do well to trust your senses, in this case, as I am clearly awake."

Irritation sparked deep within Tami's gut. "Yeah, I see that. Did you know, then, that there are Dersites digging up your planet, right now?"

"I am aware." Hemera nodded, unfazed by Tami's attitude. "And this is not my planet. It is _your_ world, Muse. Those Dersites are your responsibility, not mine."

"Bullshit." The irritation increased, Tami's forehead creasing in a deep frown, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards in a scowl. "I never asked for that responsibility; it was kinda shoved in my face. I don't want it."

A grin crept across the Denizen's face. "This responsibility, and your quest by extension, is yours nonetheless. You may embrace it or shirk it, but it is still yours to embrace or shirk."

Hemera resumed playing her crystalline violin, which Tami noticed had begun to glow faintly. While Amadeusprite flitted about nervously, the teenaged girl stood silently for several minutes, listening to the Denizen play. Her mind was abuzz with questions, but the music helped calm her down a bit. Hemera played like a master. Not for the first time, Tami wished she hadn't left her ukulele at home...she would have liked to join the Denizen, but she had no instruments.

Finally, despite the calming effect of the music, Tami could remain silent no longer. "Shouldn't you be fighting me, right now?"

Hemera glanced up from her violin, amusement glinting in her neon eyes. "Would you like me to?"

Amadeusprite hissed, getting ready to shoot another energy bolt. Tami was quick to stop her sprite. "Amadeus. Pendant. Now."

The sprite blinked once. "But Tami-"

"_Now._" With that, Amadeusprite vanished in a flash of green light, returning to the sprite pendant that hung around Tami's neck. The teenaged girl had not broken eye contact with her Denizen. "No, I'd rather you didn't fight me."

"Then why even suggest such a thing?" Hemera asked. She continued playing the violin, not bothered in the least by Amadeusprite's near blowup.

"Well…" Tami cleared her throat awkwardly, slowly making her way up to the lip of the stage. "I was under the impression that Denizens were like final bosses… You know, the last thing to defeat before finishing the quest?"

"Perhaps you should come back later, then," Hemera recommended, shaping her music into a light, airy chord progression that sounded like it was teasing the teenager. "Your quest is hardly complete. And you are also in no condition to fight me right now."

"I'd rather not."

"What, fight me at a later time?"

"I'd rather not fight you at all. Your music is very beautiful. Why would I want to fight another musician, especially when she's in the middle of playing?"

"And, at long last, reason and intelligence take their root!" Hemera's grin widened into a smile. She lowered her instrument. "And thank you for the compliment. I was taught by the very best."

Tami wondered for a moment about who could possibly have taught a Denizen to play violin, but she did not dwell on the mystery. She had other questions. "Ask you something, Hemera?"

"You just have," Hemera pointed out. The Denizen's neon eyes twinkled again with laughter as Tami found herself at a loss for words. She then relented. "You may ask, Muse."

"I, uh… Why is this place so quiet?" Tami asked her Denizen. "Where are my consorts?"

Hemera's smile slowly faded. She raised the violin once more. A sustained A-natural sang from the blue light-strings of the crystalline instrument. The A-natural then shifted down to an G-flat, down again to a E-flat, then a C-natural...it was a mournful tune, bringing feelings of grief and longing bubbling up to the surface.

"The Salamanders…" Hemera sighed. "Lovely creatures. In the Age of Dissonance, as they preferred to call it, the Salamanders gradually came to discover the joys of sound. The bubbles they produced from their mouths had a certain pitch to them when they burst, and the creatures learned that they were able to control that pitch. And so, music was born in a land of dissonance and chaos. The Salamanders then built upon these discoveries. They started to craft instruments, devices that could amplify and shape these tonal pitches through use of the breath, and so they reconstructed the musical scale. What wonderful music they once played…"

"What happened to them?"

"The Noble of Life arrived," Hemera explained. "He changed the Salamanders' perception of music by introducing a new idea - Resonance, he called it. Resonance...resulting in music born of vibrations independent of one's breath. This instrument, the 'violin', was but the first of the instruments introduced to this land by the Noble. But the idea of Resonance was much more than a means of creating sound...it turned music from a pleasant-sounding compilation of noise into a reflection of the inner self. Music is emotion. It is joy, it is anguish and sorrow, it is longing and anger. It is Life. Tell me, Muse...do you know where the energy of omnicrystal comes from?"

Tami could only shake her head.

"It was ordinary crystal, once, resting at the center of this world. But since the creation of this planet, that crystal has been saturated with the energy of Life...eventually, it began to grow and change on its own. It ultimately reached the surface in the form of trees, the crystal forests which I am sure you have seen. And do you know what happened when the crystal broke the surface?"

Another shake of the head from Tami.

"It stopped," Hemera declared, allowing her mournful tune to gain some steam on the next upstroke, switching from a minor key to a major. "The omnicrystal, as it turned out, infused with the Life Aspect, had felt a profound Resonance to its source - the source of energy for all the Aspects."

"Skaia?" Tami ventured a guess.

"_Correct._" Hemera's smile began to return, following the gradually lightening spirit of her song. Her aura shined a more intense shade of blue-green. Even the giant crystal chandelier seemed to glow brighter, bringing a humming warmth to the concert hall that hadn't been there a moment ago. "For millions of years, that crystal grew. It broke the surface, drank in the light of Skaia...and stopped. It no longer had anything to grow towards. Trees, once they matured, would grow no further, as they had already made direct contact with the source of their Resonance. Do you see now, Muse? The omnicrystal is _alive_. Stable, dormant, and _alive_. It brings a Hero's Quest to mind. You are, after all, making your own path towards Skaia, much like the crystal. However, while the omnicrystal had to navigate the nooks and crannies of the insides of this planet to reach its goal, you must navigate a much more perilous terrain: Choice."

"Look, this is all very fascinating, and everything, but I still don't see how it relates to my consorts," Tami interrupted. "How am I supposed to have a quest without consorts?"

Suddenly, Hemera locked eyes with Tami and started to play a new song. Tami gasped in pain and surprise. She listened to the song, yet found herself utterly incapable of describing it. It crawled through every micrometer of her skin, every atom in her body, every little fiber of her being. How could she possibly describe such a melody?

Well, there were a few things she could discern. It was being played as _agitato con fuoco,_ which translated from Italian into 'fast and agitated, with fire'. And it made her head feel like it was about to split open. It filled - no, _pierced_ her mind, like she was listening to nuclear-charged earbuds. Tami blinked several times, touched a hand to her forehead...only to recoil in horror when she saw that her hand - and, indeed, the rest of her body - was _flickering_. Almost like a TV channel whose reception was being interrupted. She tried to speak, but all that came out was an inaudible mess of gibberish that sounded like it had been autotuned.

Hemera stopped the new song, allowing Tami to stabilize. Her body stopped flickering, returned to solid form. The teenager's breath came rushing back as she nearly hyperventilated, supporting herself against the lip of the stage. "What...what the fuck...the fuck was that?"

"That," Hemera said, "was _you,_ Miss Abramov. It was your Song, as played through the Life Aspect. What you just felt was a form of Resonance - resonance to yourself, one of the most powerful kinds."

"But I...was…" Tami swallowed loudly, taking a deep breath, waiting for calm to return. She raised a hand again, inspected it, making sure it was no longer flickering in and out of existence. "I was…"

"Everything in existence has a Song, and playing the Song of another comes with great responsibility. It was never something that was taken lightly," Hemera said. She put down the violin and stepped up to the lip of the stage, extending a hand. Tami hesitated, but quickly accepted the hand after the pause, was surprised at the strength with which the Denizen lifted her up onto the stage. "That Song was yours. But imagine an entire species of consorts...thousands upon thousands of musicians, all playing the collective Song of their peoples...a Symphony. And you know what they did? They 'matched' their Symphony to that of the omnicrystal, which was no longer moving, and merged the music. Like the crystal, the Salamanders _stopped_."

"Like...are they frozen in time, or something?" Tami asked.

"Frozen is an apt way of describing their current situation." Hemera nodded in agreement. "However, they are quite outside the influence of time. Unfortunately, they are incapable of returning to corporeal form while they are in limbo. They must be assisted from the 'outside'. Called back, if you will. Resonance must be created, Resonance which will attract an entire species."

"And how are we supposed to do that?"

"_We_ are not." Hemera chuckled. "This is your quest, Muse, and I have given you what little knowledge you require to begin." Suddenly, she tossed the crystal violin to Tami, who caught it out of reflex. "This violin was crafted out of omnicrystal by the Noble of Life when he was a child. No need for the horrified facial expressions - it is quite unbreakable. You will need it. And you will also need this…"

Tami jumped as the Denizen seized her wrist. Hemera drew the teenaged girl close, stared straight into her eyes. The Denizen's neon-green eyes started shining white. Tami's eyes watered as she looked at them, musical notes filling her mind, blanking out everything else. She struggled briefly, tried to look away, but found she was not able to. Hemera brought up her other hand and rested it gently on Tami's forehead. Immediately, the music in the teenager's head grew to fever pitch. Tami's vision started to blur, filling with white light, her ears hearing nothing but discordant music. She wanted to scream, but could not move her jaw.

Then, a single word from Hemera that broke through all the noise: "_Follow._"

The chaotic music, the discord, then resolved into a breathtakingly beautiful chord. For the briefest of moments, Tami could see an image in her mind...a short, squat figure...yellowish skin, big green eyes...it was an upright-standing salamander, nearly four feet tall, clad in what appeared to be a tuxedo.

Then the image was gone, the music was gone, and the white light filling Tami's vision went dark.

* * *

><p>Theo Gibbons woke up to two initial things: an indigo ceiling and the sound of gunfire. He blinked once, floated up out of bed. He looked to his left. Sure enough, the walkie-talkie he'd left on his nightstand was squawking like crazy. A leaden weight settled in Theo's stomach as he started connecting the dots.<p>

The teenager grabbed the walkie-talkie and activated it all the way. The storms of static quickly resolved into the familiar voice of the Wrathful Veteran. "..._s instant! Thane! Mister Gibbons, respond this instant!_"

Theo depressed the 'transmit' button as he made his way over to the nearest window. "Theo, here," he spoke into the mic. "What the hell-"

"_Thane! There is artillery trained on your tower! Get the hell out of there! Regroup at the mansion in Eastvale-_"

There was a deafening explosion that went off someplace that was uncomfortably nearby, and the walkie-talkie's channel dissolved back into static. By then, Theo had reached his window, peered out. There were no less than five Dersite battleships hanging in low orbit over the area Theo's tower was located in. Far below, squadrons and platoons of heavily-armed commandos could be seen making their way through the pockmarked streets, trading fire with unseen attackers who appeared to be shooting at the soldiers from inside buildings.

Theo's jaw was hanging slack as he took in the sight of the battle raging below. He turned his gaze upward, squinting to see as far towards the horizon as he could. He caught a glimpse of Cass's tower in the distance.

It was in flames.


	65. V Chapter 65: No One Left Behind

Chapter Sixty-Five: No One Left Behind

_Prince… Prince… Prince…_

_**DANGER.**_

_**You are all in DANGER, Prince.**_

Gino Caiazzo took a deep breath, shaking his head as he lay in bed, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes. His dreams had been dark, chaotic...full of voices… The voices still echoed in his mind after he woke up.

Ever since his revival as his dream self after the incident on Tami's planet, Gino had been living on Derse's moon full time. It wasn't all bad… Aside from the fact that, due to Derse's incredible distance from Skaia, it was in an almost perpetual state of night, and the fact that it was ruled by an equally-incredible bitch who wanted Gino dead…

Aside from that, and a few other things, it wasn't so bad-

Oh, who was Gino kidding? He hated it here. He missed home.

He missed his _Dad_. Where the hell had his Dad disappeared off to…?

_**Your father is dead. Gone. We are all you have.**_

"Shut up," Gino muttered, swinging himself up out of bed.

That was perhaps the worst part of his new life on the Obsidian Moon. Ever since his death...which Gino had very fuzzy, unpleasant memories of...he had been plagued by the Voices. He referred to the Voices in the plural because, although they spoke to him in 'unison', it sounded as if there were thousands of different voices, all whispering in his head…

Gino did his best to ignore the Voices, but sometimes it grew difficult.

_**You hear us because you want to hear us, Prince.**_

"I said _shut up,_" Gino growled.

The teenager shook his head again, running a hand through his hair, yawning. He stood up and pulled on his purple shirt and pants. They were his Dersite pajamas. However, despite them technically being 'pajamas', Gino had chosen to continue wearing them. What could he say - they never got dirty or stinky, and they were just so damn comfy.

They had other perks, too. Gwen, for instance, looked smoking _hot_ in her purple PJs. Cass, too, sort of...though Cass was not really Gino's type-

Pain shot through Gino's skull, suddenly, as that thought passed through. A fleeting image of Gwen fleeing a burning tower flashed through his mind. The vision was brief, barely lasting even a moment...but it left, in its wake, a gnawing anxiety, deep in his gut…

Gino's heart fluttered in his chest, sweat breaking out across his brow and on the back of his neck. Last time he'd had a feeling like this was at Cruz's house, back before Day One, when his friend had handed him a pair of Sburb game discs. Several hours later, meteors started falling from the sky. If his friends were in danger… If Gwen was in danger…

_**The Witch will die. You will be alone with us.**_

"_Shut the fuck up!_" Gino hurled his pillow against the door, his anger erupting to the surface. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, pushing the volatile emotions back down. Even though the anger subsided, however, the anxiety did not.

It was settled, then. Time to bother the Veteran about it.

Gino grabbed his sunglasses off the nightstand and headed straight for the door, leaving his bedroom. Rather than heading for the stairs, Gino went left down the upstairs hallway and pounded on the door at the very end. "WV! Open up! Yo, I'm not fuckin' around, _open up!_"

"_The door is not locked._" The response came from behind the door.

_Good,_ Gino thought. Good thing the Veteran was in his room. If not, then Gino would've had to scour the Onyx for the revolutionary, which would have taken precious time. The teenager pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Something's up," he declared.

The Wrathful Veteran yawned, pulling the droopy nightcap from his head, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. "Much as I enjoy our little talks, Prince, I'm afraid you'll need something a little more informative than 'something's up' to justify waking me at this hour."

"I woke up from a dream, and I saw Gwen - er, the 'Witch' - I saw her tower getting lit the fuck up like mine was," Gino informed the Veteran. "And I got this feelin' in my gut, this _bad_ feelin', real bad, you know? And..." The teenager paused for a breath. "...and...just… I think something's up."

"Yes." The Veteran nodded, getting up out of bed and pulling on his shirt and suit jacket. "I had something of a similar feeling when I went to bed, though I thought little of it. You are simply feeling anxiety. It is to be expected - tensions here are at the highest they've been in two thousand years. Higher, even...active military personnel have not been deployed here at home since the War of the Nobles, and that was _ten_ thousand years ago. Don't worry, though, soon you will grow accustomed to it."

"I dunno, man…" Gino did not sound convinced. "I've had panic attacks before, and this didn't feel like a regular panic attack. Just sayin'...something doesn't feel right."

The Veteran pulled on a pair of boots. Once he was finished lacing them up, he gestured to the door. "After you, then, Prince. Let's head to the radio room and check on the status of things on the surface. Shall we?"

"Thanks…" Gino stepped out into the hallway.

The Wrathful Veteran and Gino slept on the upper floor of the small domicile that served as the command center of the Onyx. On the surface, the domicile was rather plain and unassuming. But in its basement was a highly sophisticated radio room that connected the Wrathful Veteran with the network of pirated channels utilized by the dissension. There were other radio stations in the Onyx, of course, but the central one simply sat at the center of the pirated network.

Gino and the Wrathful Veteran went downstairs, through the kitchen and front hall, and then downstairs again into the basement. There were a pair of guards standing outside the door to the radio room, but they allowed the Veteran and Gino to pass without question. The command center was abuzz with activity - radio operators working with the outlying communication hubs, as well as the various observation posts scattered all over Derse and the Obsidian Moon.

Ironsides, the current watch officer on duty, snapped to attention when the Veteran strode in. "Sir!"

"None of that, Ironsides, this is not the military." The Wrathful Veteran waved a hand, gesturing for the watch officer to relax.

"Alright, what the hell is going on topside?" Gino demanded to know, pushing himself forward, making his presence known to all in the room. A hushed silence filled the radio room for the briefest of moments - having a Hero present was no small deal. "We need to know, and we need to know _now._"

The watch officer glanced over at the Veteran, who gave him a single nod. "Do as the Prince requests," the Veteran ordered. "Full status report. See if there are any troop movements."

Ironsides got to work, coordinating with his staff. The radio stations lit up with activity as the observation posts were contacted, intelligence reported and relayed. The whole process took less than two minutes. What came back was less than what Gino expected - no significant troop movement, or any _other_ kind of activity, really. Since the Queen declared martial law, things had grown very quiet, as if the Obsidian Moon was holding its breath.

The only significant activity being reported was the departure of two naval vessels from the fleet orbiting Derse, heading towards the moon to join the battleship already holding position over Eastvale Ghetto. This had happened before - for supply runs, and such - but it was usually only a smaller ship that carried out those runs. This time there were two ships on the way, and they were both battleships as well. But there were no other red flags being raised. The military communications network was not even particularly active.

"Doesn't look like anything yet, sir," Ironsides reported. "I'll keep you posted."

"I…" Gino still did not sound convinced, but he was losing steam. "I… I could've sworn… The Voices said we were in danger...they said that Gwen-"

"Voices? What voices?" the Wrathful Veteran asked Gino, sharply interrupting the teenager. "You did not mention that there were voices. Describe them."

"Um…" Gino felt self-conscious for a moment. He did not want to talk about the Voices, was afraid that everyone would think he was crazy. But it was too late - whether it was intended or unintended, he had still brought them up. And the Veteran had taken an extreme interest. "Well, ever since I woke up here, I… I've been hearing these Voices, and...and they all speak to me as, like, one voice, but… It sounds like a million people whispering at the same time...sometimes they show me things, sometimes they tell me things… When I woke up, they told me that we were all in danger."

"_Ironsides,_" the Veteran whipped around to face the officer on watch. "Alert all units in the field to prepare themselves for a fight. The Queen's response to our rescue of the Prince is about to come."

"What, _now_ you believe me?" Gino said to the revolutionary leader. "When I say I hear voices in my head like a fuckin' lunatic, you decide to believe me?"

"Yes, things change when those 'voices' happen to be those of the Outer Gods," the Wrathful Veteran replied. "Come with me, Prince. Your friends are about to be in a very tight fix. They will need our help."

* * *

><p>Gwen had been awake for barely a minute before the first sounds of gunfire echoed through the air.<p>

She had been glad to wake up as her dream self on the Obsidian Moon - on the Land of Shores and Prisms, Gwen was in the middle of a riveting planetary quest with her consorts. And by 'riveting planetary quest', she meant that she was sitting in a jail cell underneath the capital city of her consorts, along with a one-eyed turtle pirate named Aristophanes, bored out of her mind. Derse, even with all its assassination attempts and sudden bombings, was a goddamn vacation compared to that.

Then the gunfire broke out.

Gwen rushed over to her window peered outside...and swore. Less than two miles away, holding position at an altitude not much higher than her tower, was the Dersite battleship, the one at the head of the naval battlegroup that had arrived the day the Queen declared martial law and disbanded Lunar Sector Enforcement.

There were smaller dropships moving back and forth between the battleship and the streets below. Every time the dropships came in for a landing, heavily-armed soldiers clad entirely in black would come rushing out.

The gunfire was coming from the main boulevard leading straight to the base of Gwen's dream tower. When the first dropship landed, deploying a full squad of commandos, gunfire started to hit the soldiers from nearby windows. It would appear the dissenters had prepared themselves for this...whatever 'this' was.

More dropships landed, deploying reinforcements. Seeking cover, those first commandos to make landfall shattered the windows of empty houses and ducked inside, trading fire with the dissenters until they were bolstered by the reinforcements. Any civilians who had been on the streets promptly fled when they saw platoons of commandos pouring in. Alarms started to go off all throughout the district.

There was a loud explosion, a plume of smoke and fire rising from the cityscape below. Gwen got a good look at the location of that explosion, realized that it had been the former Nocturne District Enforcement Headquarters - recently taken over by the military. A second explosion went off - this one further away, sending chunks of masonry and debris flying high into the sky.

Gwen's eyes followed the path of the airborne debris, which directed her gaze to the two Dersite battleships that were moving into high orbit up above, slowly shedding altitude as they advanced on their targets. One of them was heading straight for Gwen's tower, and the teenaged girl did not need a telescope to see its massive frontal energy cannons heating up.

The battleship opened fire, sending a salvo of white energy bolts crackling downwards through the air.

Instinct pushed Gwen to soar out her window. Without thinking or even taking the time to swear, she propelled herself forward.

The explosion was deafening. Gwen probably would have been blinded if she'd looked directly at it - thankfully, she was flying _away_ from it. The shockwave from the explosion threw her forward, almost causing her to spin out of control. Fighting to regain control, Gwen spared a glance over her shoulder. The top of her dream tower had been blown to pieces. More debris could still be seen falling from the sky to the streets below.

Gwen unconsciously changed direction and started flying towards the giant purple chain that anchored the Obsidian Moon to Derse. As she glanced down below, Gwen could see commandos shouting orders, pointing up at the sky towards her. Before long, the air was filled with energy bolts as the Dersite soldiers started taking shots at her. At first, there weren't all that many shooters to deal with, but the closer Gwen got to her destination…

Gwen caught several close glimpses of the battle raging below as she flew past overhead.

A heavy machinegun clattered from a third-story window in what appeared to be a derelict office building. Several commandos lay dead in the street from the work of this machinegun, while their surviving comrades remained pinned under cover. Then the machinegun was blown up, suddenly, along with half the house it was deployed in. A pair of Dersite tanks trundled up the street, their main cannons still smoking. The commandos broke cover and started moving towards the next pocket of resistance.

Three streets over, Gwen watched a guerilla on the rooftop fire a heavy, tubular weapon that appeared to be like a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The energy blast from the heavy weapon struck an advancing tank, causing the Dersite armored vehicle to brew up in flames. The commandos who had been accompanying the tank dropped to their knees and return fire, gunning the saboteur down before the dissenter could even duck.

Gwen had to look back up. She was beginning to feel queasy.

Cass's tower loomed in the near distance. Gwen flew fast - the Dersite battleship that had Cass's tower in its sights was still en route by the time the teenaged girl drew near. There was a much higher concentration of commandos in the area around Cass's dream tower, but they were more preoccupied with combating the dissenter guerillas than they were with shooting Gwen out of the sky. She certainly did not mind.

Gwen pressed her legs together and held her arms to her sides as she reached the dream tower, allowing her body to sail straight through one of the open windows without getting smacked by any of the walls. "Cass!" Gwen shouted, springing up to her feet and hurrying over to the bed, where Cass Galavis's dream self lay asleep. The other girl had not been woken up by the sounds of battle, and Gwen's screaming did not seem to be working, either.

"_Cass!_ Girl, you gotta wake yo' ass up!" Gwen continued to yell in Dream Cass's face. When that proved to be ineffective, Gwen seized Dream Cass by the front of her shirt and sent a stinging slap across the side of her face.

Dream Cass's eyes flew open, her hands flying to her face. "_Ow,_ what the...Gwen? Wha…? Did you just-"

"No time, girl, we gotta _move!_" Gwen pulled Cass out of bed. The other girl floated up into the air, weightless. As Gwen leaped out the window, dragging Cass behind her, she caught a quick glimpse of the oncoming battleship...right as it fired its frontal energy cannons. "_FUCK!_" Gwen barely had time to swear before the twin bolts of blinding white energy impacted Cass's dream room, engulfing the entire top of the tower in flames.

Cass started flying on her own, now, but not after taking in the sight of her destroyed tower. She was blinking a lot and breathing really fast. Being suddenly plunged into the middle of a battle was very disorienting, especially when she'd just been slapped awake. Having energy bolts searing through the air all around her as soldiers on the streets below started trying to shoot her down...that did not exactly help, either.

"Gwen, you...what is happening?" Cass could barely form the words.

"Look, I understand you're confused, but we _really_ can't talk right—_augh! FUCK!_" Profanity burst from Gwen's mouth a second time as white-hot pain tore through her left side. An energy bolt had grazed her, leaving a charred wound just above her hip. Immediately, Gwen started to lose altitude, no longer able to fly quite so fast. "Shit...god fucking _damn_ it, that hurts," Gwen gasped, clasping a hand to her side, blinking as her eyes watered up.

"Oh god, oh god," Cass almost rocketed ahead of Gwen when the other girl slowed down suddenly, but she was able to slow down in time. "Oh shit, Gwen, you're burned-"

"_I can fucking feel that, thanks for pointing it out!_" Gwen snapped. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed Cass's wrist and pulled the other girl down with her as she started to drop from the sky like a stone tossed from an airplane. "We gotta get outta the sky, we're sitting fucking ducks up here! Sorry for yelling, girl, I'm not mad, but we don't have time to be polite with each other!"

The two girls shot straight down into the street that was directly below, fleeing the sky before another Dersite soldier got in a lucky hit. Gwen was still fighting tears from the pain of her wound. Even the piece of wooden shrapnel that had burrowed into Gwen's shoulder, during the battle with the marauders, had not hurt as badly as the wound in her left side. The energy bolt had burned her, blackening the skin where it had impacted. The flesh around the third-degree burn had become puckered and raw.

Gwen had to bite her lip and shove the pain into a dark corner of her mind when she made landfall. She and Cass landed right in the path of an advancing tank, so they were forced to hit the ground running. Gwen led the way off the street and into an alleyway before the tank could draw a bead on them.

The alleyway zigzagged its way deep into a residential sector, where no major streets lay, and therefore no surges of Dersite commandos. Gunfire was roaring on all sides, interspersed now with louder, heavier blasts that sounded like artillery of some sort. Sometimes the girls would run past dissenters emerging from the backs of buildings, many of them carrying or dragging bloodied comrades.

Some of the louder artillery blasts caused Gwen to unconsciously grit her teeth, memories of the _Viridian Wind's _gun decks flashing through her mind.

"It's finally happening, isn't it!" Cass managed to exclaim as they moved towards the next street, flinching as a mortar round bit off a sizeable chunk of a nearby rooftop. "What the Veteran said the Queen would do…?"

"Looks like it!" Gwen hollered back, shouting to be heard. "My tower got roasted just like yours!"

The two girls burst out onto the next street over just as a group of fleeing dissenters was cut down by a spray of energy bolts from a mounted machinegun. A pair of tanks was rumbling down the street, reinforced by no less than a platoon of infantry commandos. This time, Gwen and Cass were spotted. An officer shouted an order, and the soldiers all opened fire on the girls.

"_Move!_" Gwen screamed. She grabbed Cass's hand and leaped up into the air, clearing the distance to the opposite side of the road in a single jump. Having the ability to fly as dream selves was proving to be invaluable. Perhaps invaluable enough to get the girls out of this mess.

Unfortunately, this next residential sector proved to be more hostile than the previous one. There were more dissenters fleeing from destroyed hideouts and holdouts, and therefore more Dersite soldiers in pursuit of the guerillas. To make matters worse, the soldiers who'd spotted Gwen and Cass on the street were on their tail within a minute, forcing them to deal with almost constant weaponsfire coming up from behind.

Yet another tank rumbled forward and blocked the far end of the alleyway, barring the girls access to the next street. Gwen had only a moment to register the tank's mounted machinegun swiveling to face them before she had to yank Cass off into a smaller side alley. A storm of energy bolts lanced through the air where they had stood a moment previously.

"Where are we going, Gwen?" Cass barely managed to form the words and speak them with enough volume to be heard over the sounds of battle. "This whole place is crawling with commandos! How're we going to get out on foot?"

"Working on that one…" As she kept running, Gwen's mind was moving faster than the speed of light, trying to figure out possible routes to safety. It was a challenge for two stark reasons: first, Gwen was not familiar enough with the Obsidian Moon to know how to get from place to place based on memory alone, and second...she had no idea where 'safety' could possibly be located.

But one thing was for certain, and that was that they had to _keep moving_.

Gwen and Cass rounded a corner...only to come face-to-face with no less than half a dozen heavily-armed commandos. The Dersite soldiers were in tight formation on the street, and they'd just executed a cluster of captured dissenters, piling up the bodies in the side alley. If they were surprised at the sudden arrival of the two Heroes, they did not show it. They merely aimed their rifles and-

Gwen and Cass were nearly blown off their feet by the sudden, powerful gust of wind that howled through the street. It was easily gale-force, and it knocked the Dersite commandos over like tenpins, sending their rifles flying. This, more than anything, was what saved the girls' lives - the Dersites had to scramble to recover their weapons. The girls' savior touched down to the ground after incapacitating the Dersite soldiers. Theo Gibbons didn't waste any time with greetings. "C'mon, guys, move it! I got us a getaway vehicle!"

While the commandos picked themselves up off the asphalt, Theo whipped out his wallet sylladex and pulled a single captchalogue card out. When he tossed the card out in front of him, it vanished in a ball of blue light, which held its form and quickly morphed into the shape of a car. When the blue light vanished, there was a blue 2001 Ford Focus sitting on the road.

"Is that Adam's car?" Cass frowned, recognizing the vehicle.

Theo was climbing into the driver's seat. "Yeah, it's cool, just get in!"

Cass hopped into the backseat while Gwen took shotgun, pulling the seatbelt over her shoulder and clicking it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Cass had done the same. By then, Theo had started the engine and pounded the gas pedal, sending the Ford Focus lurching forward. Theo sent Adam's car into a sharp U-turn, speeding away from the commando squad before they had a chance to start shooting. This was a good thing - Theo preferred not to owe Adam's car a new paint job, and he was going to do his damnedest to keep it that way.

Theo turned the car right, rocketing out onto a wide, open road that appeared to be a primary boulevard. These were the roads that connected all the important places and landmarks of the Obsidian Moon to one another. This road was full of burning metallic husks - other automobiles that had gotten in the way of the ongoing battle, as well as disabled Dersite tanks. There were pockmarks and craters scattered throughout the road, as well, forcing Theo to drive with extra care.

"Theo, where are we going?" Cass yelled from the backseat. Much to her relief - and Gwen's relief, as well - Theo had an answer.

"Eastvale!" Theo shouted back, wrenching the wheel to the left to avoid plowing into a newly-made crater, sending all the car's occupants hurling to the right until restrained by their seatbelts. When he straightened back up and recovered, Theo went on. "The ghetto by Gino's tower! We got friends waitin' for us there!"

Thanks to Gwen's earlier modifications on the engine of Adam's car - mainly the transition to omnicrystal power, rather than combustion - the Focus zoomed down the boulevard at very high speeds, too fast for any of the Dersite tanks or armored vehicles to catch them. Theo kept his breathing level - he rarely got asthma attacks, anymore, but every once in a while he would find himself having trouble getting in a full breath. He didn't want to push his luck.

Buildings, shopfronts, clock towers, apartment complexes - all rushed by in a purple blur as Theo pushed the accelerator as far as it could go. The car could have gone even faster than the current speed Theo was pushing it to, but then it would have become impossible to continue avoiding craters and other obstacles in the road without spinning out of control.

_C'mon, Theo, just keep on breathing_… Theo thought to himself.

"Theo!" Gwen's voice yanked Theo back to the present. She was pointing upwards. "_Ship!_"

The Dersite commandos must have gotten word to their superiors that there were three Heroes loose in a small blue car, because one of the massive violet battleships had just moved into place several miles ahead of the teens' current location. The main energy cannons mounted on the ship's deck had swiveled about to face the Heroes. They were already glowing white-hot.

As the battleship opened fire, sending a volley of deadly white light blazing towards the wayward Heroes, Gwen reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, wrenching it to the left. The car's wheels screeched as they drifted sideways across the asphalt. Theo gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were beginning to turn white - after five solid seconds of wrestling, he got the car back under control, fleeing down a smaller intersecting road.

The boulevard behind them was lit up in a fiery haze as the battleship's salvo made impact. Theo didn't get to look at the whole thing, but he saw more than enough from the rearview mirror. In that moment, although Theo was concentrating very hard on the road ahead of him, he had a very clear thought: _Why couldn't I have been a Prospit dreamer?_

The 'drive' to Eastvale took nearly fifteen minutes. During this time, the naval battlegroup hovering in the sky was joined by several more ships - a fourth battleship, and a handful of smaller destroyers. The small fleet wasted no time. They moved into formation and started raining fire down onto the Obsidian Moon. Wherever there were still dissenters shooting at commandos, the Dersite Navy would blanket the area with salvos of energy torpedos.

Cass felt almost numb as she watched the destruction through the rear window of the car. "This is crazy," she murmured. "They're blowing up their own home! This is crazy! How can the Dersites stand for this?"

"Simple," Gwen grunted. "If they complain to the Queen, they get thrown into the Silent Dungeon. If they band together and complain to the Queen en masse, then they get shot. Better to lay low."

"But nothing ever _changes_ when everyone just 'lays low'," Cass argued.

Gwen gave a second grunt, this time in agreement. "Yeah. That's what the dissenters realized."

"Eastvale!" Theo cried out, interrupting the conversation. "We're here-"

The explosion that cut Theo off midsentence blanked out the entire road on which he was driving. Theo could see the run-down, dilapidated sprawl of Lower Eastvale less than half a mile up ahead, separated from the neighboring district by several blocks of rubble, piled as high as small mountains. Remnants from a rebellion long-past. Then, suddenly, the road was plunged into shadow, followed by a giant bolt of white energy slamming down into the asphalt up ahead…then a flash of fiery light that was very painful to look at directly. Theo slammed on the brakes, squeezing his eyes shut until the tears came and the pain abated. The car screeched to a stop, throwing its occupants forward into their seatbelts. Gwen let out a sharp cry, clutching at her chest. "God damn it, Theo, that just crushed my fucking-

"Sorry!" Theo exclaimed. "Thought it'd be preferable to _that._" He gestured up ahead to the wall of flames that had consumed the road into Lower Eastvale. Had Theo not slammed the brakes, the Ford Focus would have careened right into the fire. As the light died down, the dark shape of a Dersite naval vessel - a destroyer - became visible, plunging the entire surrounding area into shadow. The smaller ship's frontal cannons were already recharging for a new salvo.

Theo unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching over and doing the same for Gwen. "C'mon, there's less soldiers in Eastvale, we can fly the rest of the way!"

Gwen and Cass both scrambled out of the car, leaping into the air and flying up to the level of the third-story rooftops. Theo paused as he got out of the car. As the destroyer opened fire once again, Theo whipped out his wallet. The Ford Focus vanished in a haze of blue light, a lone captchalogue card resting on the ground where it had once stood. Theo snatched it up and took to the skies after the girls.

The second salvo made impact. Theo barely escaped in one piece - he felt the intense heat burning away at his back for a brief moment before he picked up speed and put the flames behind him. As it was, the back of his neck and parts of his arms felt slightly singed, as if he'd gotten light sunburn.

"What the hell was that?" Gwen shouted at Theo as the teenaged boy joined her in the sky. "You _tryin'_ to get yourself roasted?"

"Adam's car!" Theo replied. "He'd fucking _murder_ me if I got his car blown up!"

"I think he cares more about you than his goddamn car!"

The three teens proceeded deeper into the sky over Eastvale. They flew low, hugging the rooftops. This meant they had to be mindful of chimneys and towers, but these were easy to swerve around.

Eastvale Ghetto was divided into two distinct parts - Lower and Upper Eastvale, respectively. Lower Eastvale had been a poorer neighborhood even before the uprising that had reduced it to rubble. It comprised primarily of apartment complexes, old factories, and entertainment hubs. Eastvale, in its entirety, was neatly bisected by a high escarpment. Upper Eastvale was the part of the ghetto that hugged the upper edge of the escarpment. This part of the ghetto had once been a well-off community, much more residential in nature than Lower Eastvale.

The three teens made a break for the escarpment, heading straight for Upper Eastvale. Theo led the way - he had been told by the Wrathful Veteran, via radio, to rendezvous at a particular mansion in Upper Eastvale. This mansion had once been the abode of a handful of mid-ranking Agents, back before the Wrathful Veteran's first uprising that had reduced Eastvale to its current state. In recent years, the dissenters had been keeping a pirated transportalizer pad there.

"Guys!" Cass yelled to her two friends. "That ship is coming back around!"

Theo glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the Dersite destroyer was making a wide arc in the sky, adjusting its course so that, when it straightened out, it would be bearing down on the flying teens f1rom behind. As Theo looked back, he saw a pair of gunships take off from the destroyer's deck - these gunships were similar to helicopters, save for the fact that they had two sets of rotor blades, rather than one.

"Aw, _shit,_ we're gonna have company if we don't hurry the fuck up!" Theo cried.

The escarpment drew near. The three Heroes pushed their speed as fast as they possibly could without passing out. This made it even harder to hear each other, forcing them to really shout. Theo pointed ahead to the dissenter mansion - a smaller, abandoned estate that rested about two blocks in from the edge of the escarpment - and made sure the two girls knew where they were headed.

Gunfire stormed through the air all around the three teens. The two Dersite gunships had already caught up with them. These gunships had energy turrets mounted in the side doors, which commandos were using to shoot at the Heroes. They had very high rates of fire, but did not seem to be suited for taking down fast-moving targets. Even so, that did not mean the commandos had poor aim.

"Serpentine!" Theo shouted, throwing himself to the left, then over to the right, then back to the left and so on. "C'mon guys, serpentine!"

"What's serpentine!" Cass hollered back.

"Video game tactics!" Theo replied. "Just do what I'm doing, move side-to-side, it makes you harder to aim at!"

Gwen and Cass followed Theo's example, swerving to avoid becoming too much of a target for the gunships. All the while, the Dersite destroyer moved into position from behind, priming its frontal cannons for a final volley. With a rush of fear, Theo realized that the destroyer was aiming square at the mansion they were heading towards. If it blew the mansion up before Theo and the others made it… Gwen was slowing down, hindered by the new wound she'd just sustained. They weren't going to make it...

The Heroes needed an extra boost, and Theo was more than happy to provide one. Out of reflex, he spread both his arms out wide and focused on a point behind him in his mind's eye. Then he took a deep breath, felt the almost electrifying charge of his Aspect surging through his body, and let out a massive breath, as if he were trying to blow out the candles on Zeus's birthday cake.

The three teens were blasted forward even faster as a powerful, almost hurricane-force wind howled into them out of nowhere. Theo only had enough strength for a short burst of wind before he started getting heart palpitations and dizziness, forcing him to release the Breath energy.

Still, it had been enough. One of the mansion's windows was swung open, and Theo could see two figures within...and one of them was wearing purple pajamas nearly identical to his own. Theo reached the window first, wincing as the two Dersite gunships reacquired their aim and sent a spray of energyfire tearing into the mansion wall right next to the window.

"Holy goddamn shit, you look like you've been through the fuckin' wringer!" Gino flashed Theo a grin, helping his fellow Derse dreamer through the window.

"I've been through half a dozen wringers, I'll have you know," Theo grunted, steadying himself against a wall and dusting himself off. The room was small and perfectly square, with a lone transportalizer pad set up in the center. Theo glanced back up, trading nods with the Wrathful Veteran, who was standing next to Gino. "Good to see you again, WV."

"Likewise...though I dearly wish it were under better circumstances," the Dersite revolutionary leader said. "Wait on the transportalizer pad."

Gwen reached the mansion next, Cass trailing behind her.

"_Woo,_ yeah! You fly like a fuckin' _champ!_" Gino crowed, grabbing Gwen's arm and hauling her inside. Without thinking, Gwen seized Gino by the collar of his pajamas and planted a kiss square on his lips before letting him go and joining Theo on the transportalizer pad. Gino was left looking a little shellshocked, but he shook his head once, blinking, and turned back to the window, hiding the color that was blossoming in his face.

Cass came last. Gino leaned out the window, holding out a hand.

When Theo looked back on what happened next...it was all such a blur, everything happening so fast...it was difficult to make sense of things. Two things happened in quick succession that threw everything into disarray - first, the Dersite destroyer bearing down on the mansion fired its frontal cannons, sending a frightening hail of white light streaking through the sky, leaving the mansion with mere seconds before impact.

And second… Just as Cass was about to grab Gino's hand, an energy bolt from one of the Dersite gunships tore through her stomach. Gino saw it for the faintest of moments - a flash of light bursting forth from the brown-haired girl's stomach area, a quick spray of blood... Cass could feel the agony, but it was strange...the pain was, for lack of a better way of describing it, 'at a distance'. There was a strange barrier of numbness sitting between her mind and the pain...and, unfortunately, that numbness extended to her motor functions.

Without a sound, Cass dropped from the sky.

Gino and Theo both started screaming. Gino started jumping out the window after Cass, but he was restrained by the Wrathful Veteran. Gwen watched Gino struggle for a moment before the Veteran pulled out a small black object with a luminous electric-blue tip that appeared to be the Dersite version of a taser, touching it to the back of Gino's neck. The shock was enough to knock Gino out cold, causing him to go limp.

The Wrathful Veteran threw Gino's unconscious form over his shoulder and slammed the window shut. Theo and Gwen's initial reaction had also been to lunge for the window in an effort to save their friend, but they were too slow. They had barely taken a single step before the Wrathful Veteran jumped onto the transportalizer pad and stomped his foot down on the activation switch.

There was a bright flash of light, accompanied by a very strange sensation that felt like one was being pulled through a vortex. It was enough to make Theo's stomach do flip-flops. He was still shouting Cass's name even as he materialized in a different room, far away from Eastvale.

The new room opened up into a giant warehouse, filled to the bursting point with foodstuffs, weapons, and omnicrystal power cells. It was a huge supply depot. Theo took a moment to get his bearings, taking in the sight of the supply depot, before rounding on the Wrathful Veteran. "Take us back."

"Thane-" the Veteran tried to explain, but Theo was having none of it.

"No, shut up!" Theo growled. "We left our friend back there, and we're going to get her. Take us! Now!"

"I'm afraid that is not possible-"

Theo's breathing started to grow shallow. "Motherfucker, don't you tell me-"

"_Theo!_" The Wrathful Veteran took hold of the hyperventilating teenager's arm, giving him a single, jolting shake, snapping him back to reality.

Panic had been rising inside Theo as he started to feel that familiar, potentially deadly constriction in his lungs. This was bad - he'd never had an asthma attack as his dream self, before; he'd assumed his dream self was immune, but… Suddenly hearing his name from the Veteran, who'd never called him by his first name, before, brought him back into the present moment, but it wasn't until Gwen took his other arm that his anger finally started to deflate.

"It's alright," Gwen whispered to him. "Breathe, Theo...it's okay…"

"..._fuck,_" a choked sob escaped from Theo's throat, and he fell into Gwen's arms. The two teenagers held each other tight, tears beginning to seep down Theo's face, while Gwen worked hard to keep her own eyes dry. "...the fuck _was_ that…?" Theo murmured, struggling to speak over the lump in his throat. "...what just…? What the fuck just happened…? Cass…we need to go back..."

"Theo, we can't do that," Gwen replied, offering the Veteran a discreet nod when the Dersite offered aid. _Thanks, but I got this,_ Gwen silently told him. "The transportalizer in the mansion is destroyed. We have no way to get to Eastvale in time. Cass...she's gone."

"But…we can't just…" Theo sniffed, "...leave her behind, we can't-"

"It's already done," Gwen said, quickly wiping her eyes. "And...it's not our fault."

"...this is so fucked up, Gwen. All of this."

"I know."

Theo wiped his nose, sniffed again, and released Gwen, standing up straight. When he glanced at the Veteran again, the Dersite was surprised at how exhausted the teen looked. Even so, now was not the time to rest, not yet. Just a little bit further to go. "Follow me, please," the Veteran picked Gino back up and gestured for the two other teens to fall into step behind him. He led them through the supply depot, issuing quiet orders to the four armed guards outside the room containing the Hub transportalizer pad.

Communication travelled fast among the dissenters. There was already a group of fighters waiting for the Wrathful Veteran at the supply depot's entrance. They knew better than to salute the Veteran. The ranking fighter stepped forward. "I'll take the Prince off your hands, sir."

"Thank you." The Veteran handed the Prince off to the fighter. He then turned to Theo. "These men will escort you to your quarters. I would advise you get some rest, Thane...as the Prince said, you have been through the wringer. We will speak again when you are ready."

Theo wordlessly trudged after the dissenters, who led him away from the supply depot.

Gwen watched him go. She took a moment to take in the sight of the world beyond the supply depot. It appeared to be a giant cavern, giant enough to host several city blocks. It was lit by an array of omnicrystal-powered tube-lights, bright enough to mimic daytime. There were a mix of military and civilian buildings contained within the cavern - some of them supply depots like the one containing the Hub, others domiciles that housed this core group of dissenters.

Hundreds of Dersites appeared to live here - those on-duty were drilling in the brick 'fields' outside town or practicing marksmanship on targets painted onto the cavern walls, while those off-duty were enjoying leisure time in the town with the non-combatant dissenters.

"Welcome to the Onyx," the Wrathful Veteran said to Gwen, noticing that she was gazing. "It's certainly no garden...but it fulfils its purpose as our safe haven quite well. This will be your home, for now."

"Can't wait to check the whole place out…" Gwen murmured, watching the group of fighters lead Theo towards the town. "Wish I was more excited."

"Yes, it will take some time for you to adjust. If you will accompany me, I will take you to the infirmary. That energy burn on your side needs to be treated." The Veteran paused for a moment before going on to ask, "Will the Thane be alright, do you think?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine...that's just who he is," Gwen replied. "I'd get ready for a rollercoaster ride, though, if I were you… Gino won't take this well when he wakes up."

* * *

><p>The martini glass shattered as it hit the wall, splattering vodka against the violet bricks. A lone martini olive - the sole survivor of the martini's destruction - rolled across the floor for a few moments before being stopped by a shard of broken glass.<p>

"I want his head," the Black Queen seethed, her gaze still fixed upon her fenestrated windows, which displayed an image of the remains of a mansion in Eastvale Ghetto, recently incinerated in the ongoing operation on the Obsidian Moon. "Find out who is in command of that destroyer. I want his fucking head."

"There a deadline on when you want that head?" Jack Noir asked. "End of the week sound good? Can't promise anything before the end of the week."

"Do not test me, Noir," the Queen hissed. "Now is not a wise time to try my patience. All the energy residue left over from that blast will prevent us from tracing the frequency of that transportalizer jump-"

"Apologies for the interruption, but I believe you will wish to hear this," the Draconian Dignitary spoke up suddenly. Jack Noir's second-in-command was sitting at the Queen's personal comm table, holding half a pair of headphones to one ear. "Ground teams have arrived onsite in Eastvale. They have just reported finding the Sylph."

"Dead?" the Black Queen asked.

"Alive, but barely," the Dignitary replied, pulling the mic close to his mouth, preparing to issue orders. "The ground teams are requesting orders. Shall they terminate the Sylph?"

The Black Queen was silent for a moment before making her decision. "No. Get her to the nearest medical facility and stabilize her. The Sylph lives, for now. And when you're finished with that, get me another martini."


	66. V Chapter 66: Parole

Chapter Sixty-Six: Parole

Gwen Twymann was mumbling obscenities when she woke back up. Noticing what she was doing, Gwen simply let the swear words fall away into a wide yawn.

Aristophanes arched a brow at her from across the jail cell. "Surely you are not tiring of my company, Witch?"

"_Mm,_ no." Gwen stretched and sat up, resting her head back against the stone wall that her cot was next to. "No, I...uh… Bad dream, that's all…"

Gwen could not remember exactly how long she had been sitting in this jail cell along with Aristophanes. Two days? Three days? Jesus, how did people survive long stretches of time like this without going nuts? Gwen's mind moved fast enough that it chafed when it was confined to a small room.

"Bad dreams, aye," Aristophanes chuckled. "Anything worth sharing?"

Gwen's throat tightened, the sound of gunfire still echoing through her mind, the sight of Cass's dream self falling… Gwen shook her head once. "Not a 'sharing' kind of dream. Things are finally moving forward… I just wish I had more control over 'which direction'."

"Is it true that when a Hero falls asleep, they wake up someplace else?" Aristophanes asked.

"Yeah," Gwen replied. For a moment, she was puzzled that the very knowledgeable turtle-consort had not known such a simple fact, before remembering that - to the consorts - Heroes were the stuff of legends. Gwen found it amazing they knew as much as they did about the Nobles, who'd lived ten thousand years before. How much did Humanity remember about the year 8000 BC? Not very much. "We have dream selves. When I fall asleep, I wake up in a purple planet full of fucking psychos."

"Derse, you mean?" Aristophanes asked.

"I...yeah…" Gwen blinked in surprise. "How…? How do you know about Derse?"

"We know more than you think," Aristophanes replied. "Though, I confess, we did not know about dream selves! That was something that always plagued me in the past - how the Nobles, during the last great war, were seemingly able to operate simultaneously on Prospit or Derse as well as their own respective worlds."

Before Gwen could follow up more on this line of questioning, the sound of light footsteps entered the cell from the hallway outside. Gwen and Aristophanes both turned their attention to the open, barred wall of their cell just in time to see none other than Alexander, the Prefect of the Assembly, accompanied by a single guard. At the Prefect's nod, the guard produced a ring of keys, inserted one into the lock, opened the cell door.

"Come to join us, brother?" Aristophanes greeted the older turtle-consort. "Very thoughtful of you. It gets so very dull, here, without you."

"Silence, Aristophanes," Alexander sighed, signalling for the cell door to be closed behind him. He adjusted the sleeve of his coat before sitting down in the cell's sole chair, right between the two cots. "I must apologize for placing you in custody, Witch. Some discretion was needed, and I would like to explain myself. Tell me, does anything in these images ring a bell for you?"

With that, Alexander reached into his jacket and pulled out three glossy photographs. This surprised Gwen - she hadn't thought her consorts would be technologically advanced enough to take 21st Century photographs. How much did she still not know about her consorts?

Gwen took the photographs. All three of them were pictures of Dersites. In all three pictures, the Dersites were in jail cells eerily similar to the one Gwen and Aristophanes were currently sitting in. They were also quite dead. "How do you have pictures of Dersites?" Gwen asked the Assembly Prefect.

"It is confirmed that they are Dersites, then. Good." Alexander took the photographs back from Gwen, passed them to his brother, who peered at them with an expression of pure bewilderment. "These images were taken of outsider prisoners who were recovered from the oceans, roughly ten years ago. This is not the first time this has happened, obviously - merely the first time it happened after we reverse-engineered image-capturing technology from these aliens."

Aristophanes's confusion was only increasing. "Reverse-engineered…?"

"We are under surveillance, you understand," Alexander explained, holding out a hand for the photographs, pocketing them once again. "Under surveillance from these carapacian scum. Walk with me."

Alexander rose back to his feet, nodded to the guard in the hallway. The guard opened the cell door and stepped aside, allowing the Prefect out. Gwen and Aristophanes had no choice but to stand up and follow the older turtle-consort out.

"Believe it or not, but the leadership of this world knows a great deal of what happens _off_ this world," Alexander said to the two former prisoners, leading them down the central hallway of the dungeon and back into the dark spiral stair that led back to the surface. "The fighting between Prospit and Derse has never truly died down since before the War of the Nobles. This war technically ended in a stalemate for the two Kingdoms - it was we consorts who truly lost. Worlds devastated from the War, and the Cataclysm that followed, entire cultures wiped out…"

The party moved up the stairs. Gwen's mind was literally bursting with questions, but she bit down on the insides of her cheeks. Alexander continued to explain away, even as they reached the top of the stairs and emerged into the lower level of the Assembly building. Rather than continue upstairs to the surface, however, Alexander turned down a side hallway, heading deeper into the lower level.

"To understand our current situation, you must understand something about Dersite Protocol. The Prospitians were not our friends, per se, but their cause was aligned with the Heroes, so we were natural allies," Alexander outlined. "The Prospitians did not have a large enough military to protect us - they spend their resources guarding themselves and Skaia. So the consort worlds fell under the control of Derse. They only interfered on two worlds - the Land of Crystals and Silence, to mine the omnicrystal after the disappearance of the Salamanders; and the Land of Rain and Rivers."

"Adam's planet…" Gwen made the connection. "The Cobras?"

"Yes, the Cobras." Alexander nodded. He opened the door at the end of the hallway, ushering Gwen and Aristophanes into what appeared to be a wine cellar. The guard shut the door behind them and remained out in the hallway. Alexander headed straight to the opposite end of the cellar, moving through the aisles of stored wine bottles. "They do not have our technology, but they are telekinetic - some of them can even produce fire. If the Cobra tribes were left to unite and prosper as a society, they would have eventually posed a huge threat to the Dersites. They are the deadliest consorts in the Medium. And so, six hundred years ago, Derse sent in an entire army and subjugated the Cobra tribes, kept them separate from each other, kept that threat from ever developing."

Alexander placed a hand on a slightly discolored wine bottle, pushing it inwards until it made a loud click. There was a soft, mechanical _hiss,_ followed by an entire section of the wine cellar wall swinging open, revealing a dark stone hallway. There were windows built into the walls of the corridor, and Gwen was able to get glimpses of strange occurrences on the other side. She saw what appeared to be scientists and technicians, poring over several tables of Dersite weaponry, diligently taking notes.

"They might have done the same to us, you understand," Alexander pointed out, striding past the windows and side hallways that branched out from this main one, instead heading straight to the end of the hallway, which contained yet another spiral staircase - this one leading downwards, back into the earth. "If they had known how advanced our technology has become, the Dersites would have invaded this world centuries ago. So we keep our technology hidden. We keep our secrets. It is not easy, withholding knowledge, nor is it painless. You, Aristophanes, were spilling some dangerous secrets to the open air. And so I had no choice but to remove both you from the public eye. But I did this because, believe it or not, I am on your side. Here we are…"

The staircase reached a small square room. The symbol of the Light Aspect had been carved into one of the walls. Alexander placed a hand on the center of the symbol. The Light Aspect symbol glowed bright yellow for a moment, as if it were scanning the turtle-consort Prefect's hand. Then it split in two, both halves of the wall retreating into the earth, revealing the chamber beyond.

It was a teardrop-shaped chamber - the 'point' of the tear being the entrance. In the wider part of the chamber, there was a stone sarcophagus resting on top of an altar, the Light symbol emblazoned upon its surface. Two pillars stood on either side of the altar, both glowing a with a subdued white light. Gwen recognized it as omnicrystal.

The wall behind the sarcophagus, like the walls of the Assembly chamber, bore a beautiful mural. This mural depicted sunlight finally breaking through a veil of dark clouds. There was a ship floating in the air above the Metropolis - which was much smaller than its modern size. On the ship, a one-eyed turtle-consort carried the corpse of deceased Noble of Light. On the ground, in the city, weeping turtle-consorts had gathered to receive the ship.

"The Noble of Light's Tomb," Alexander proclaimed. "Much like the Library of All, most of our peoples know of its existence only through myth and legend. Only a handful of us know that this Tomb is located directly beneath our capital building."

"Do you keep it a secret from everyone else?" Gwen asked, traces of accusation in her tone. She did not like keeping secrets.

"Yes," Alexander replied bluntly. "Imagine, for a moment, what this Tomb would look like after enduring nearly ten thousand years of grave robbers and treasure hunters. It would have been looted beyond recognition before your arrival, Witch. And the less those bloody Dersites know of the more sensitive aspects of our history, the better."

"Okay, so where is this 'key' you mentioned?" Gwen asked.

"Here…" Alexander gestured to the mural behind the sarcophagus. "When the Cataclysm befell us, the Noble of Light left our world and traveled to Skaia in order to put an end to the darkness. He must have known that he was fated to die on the journey, for he had already constructed this Tomb before he left. He had already hidden the key to finding the Library of All and made it so that - and this is what the legends claim - only you, the Witch, would be able to retrieve it."

"The point, brother, get to the point," Aristophanes interjected.

"Okay, then…" Gwen murmured, the gears and cogs turning in her mind. "What exactly do I get out of this if I go ahead and get this key? I'm warning you, I'm _not_ going to be happy if it ends up being more jail time. Don't piss me off."

"When the key is secured, you will lead the effort to find the Library," Alexander explained. "A lone corsair vessel conducting the search will not draw any attention from Dersite surveillance."

"You would work with corsairs, Alexander?" Aristophanes could not keep the surprise out of his voice. "Is this my true brother I see standing before me?"

"Things are different now." Alexander gestured towards Gwen with one hand. "Now then, Witch...the key. This whole mural, here, hides a combination lock. Very simple, really. We just don't know the combination. Nor do we understand your runes."

"Our runes…?"

Alexander pulled another object from one of his inner pockets - instead of photographs, this was a simple metal box about the size of a saltshaker. The older turtle-consort activated the box. It produced a high-pitched, fluctuating tone that reminded Gwen of binaural beats. Then Alexander turned the dial on the side of the box, raising the tone to a level beyond Human hearing.

The omnicrystal pillars around the sarcophagus reacted to the sound box by shimmering in unison with the fluctuating tones. As the pitch went way up, the bluish-white light emitted by the omnicrystal shifted to a deep indigo, plunging the Tomb into near-darkness, similar to a room with a blacklight. And, like how a blacklight would cause anything white to 'pop out', the new indigo light from the omnicrystal revealed a row of very familiar symbols on the mural that had not been visible in the normal light.

Gwen was looking at the English alphabet, each individual letter glowing somewhere on the mural depicting the return of the Noble of Light's body, like invisible ink. "Oh, _those_ runes."

"Yes, the ancient runes," Alexander replied. "The Noble taught us to write with these original runes, but...well, I am sure you can imagine just how extensively both the written and verbal components of a language can change over a period of ten thousand years. We quite forgot how to use these original runes."

"Yeah, okay, interesting." Gwen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "What am I supposed to be typing here? Your Noble's birthday?"

"Heavens no, girl." Alexander shook his head. "The access combination is his true name."

Gwen raised an eyebrow, feeling skeptical despite herself. "Really? His name? That's all? _That's_ the big combination that only I can solve?"

"The Noble had multiple names, but he never shared his true name with us," Alexander said. "And if he ever did share it, it was never written down and was therefore lost to time. Now...if you will?"

Gwen stepped around the sarcophagus and stood in front of the mural. As she lifted a hand to the glowing alphabet, Gwen noticed that she was staring at the image of the Noble of Light's lifeless body, held in the arms of the one-eyed turtle-consort who was carrying him off the ship. She made two connections from that image - the first connection was that the one-eyed consort was the same as the one-eyed turtle-consort in the mural upstairs, the one who was holding the Noble as an infant. The second connection was that the ship in this mural was none other than the _Viridian Wind_.

Gwen shook her head once, clearing her thoughts. She started by pressing a finger to the 'G' on the hidden mural alphabet. The glowing letter gave a faint flash of indigo light at her touch, matching the omnicrystal's color for a moment. Gwen quickly spelled out 'GRAFTON', surprised at the sudden surge of emotion that tugged at her chest and throat. She missed her grandfather.

Gramps had merged with Gwen's sprite shortly after entry into the Medium, bidding her farewell as she passed through her first gate and ended up on the island the _Viridian Wind_ found her on. Gwen had not seen her Gramps since, had no idea if he was still even alive… Like the adult guardians of all Gwen's friends, her Gramps had vanished.

After entering in her grandfather's name, Gwen stepped back from the mural as a small, square compartment popped open in the ground. Within the compartment was what appeared to be a small glass pyramid, about the size of a paperweight. It was a prism.

Alexander turned off his sound box, allowing the hue of the omnicrystal light to return to normal, illuminating the Tomb once more.

Gwen retrieved the prism, gingerly lifting it from the secret compartment, which slid back shut when she removed its contents. At first, she noticed nothing abnormal about the prism. But when Gwen held it up to her eye, she realized that there were images and numbers swirling around within the glass, invisible to the naked eye unless held very close.

Within the strange prism, Gwen could see two sets of numbers - one that appeared to be coordinates, and another that seemed to denote a certain time of day. The image in the pyramid was one of a giant prism-crystal, like the ones that protruded from the ground and sea all over this planet, shining with a beam of green light. Unable to make heads or tails of it, Gwen passed the prism over to Aristophanes, who took his own look.

"Nautical coordinates," Aristophanes grunted, confirming Gwen's suspicions. "I'm unsure as to the meaning of the green light, but those numbers are definitely nautical coordinates and a timestamp."

Alexander peered into the pyramidal prism once for himself, nodding in agreement. "Perhaps investigating these coordinates at the specified time of day will answer your questions," the older turtle-consort suggested. "In any case, you have your quest laid out for you. Thank you, Witch, for unlocking these secrets. It pains us so to have secrets, even more so to have them kept from us. And this one has been kept for ten thousand years."

Alexander took Gwen and Aristophanes out of the Tomb and back upstairs to the Assembly chamber, where they were greeted by a troupe of armed guards. The guards escorted them directly back to the harbor, where the _Viridian Wind_ still waited.

Gwen could not help but feel disappointed as she studied the buildings and structures they walked past. She had been looking forward to exploring the Metropolis. She had been looking forward to mingling with more of her consorts. Instead, she had been jailed for several days, taken to the supposed final resting place of someone from the distant past who was somehow also her grandfather.

This had not been a fun trip.

Still, though… As Aristophanes helped Gwen into their wooden skiff and cast off from the dock, Gwen turned her gaze to the _Viridian Wind_ and found herself smiling. She'd missed those crazy corsair bastards. Some of them, at least.

"Well, I must confess...that did not go quite as I planned," Aristophanes admitted. He continued to row, pushing the skiff across the small swells of the bay towards the anchored corsair ship. "I apologize for the time spent in prison, though I do hope you will consider it time spent with good company."

"You didn't mention that the president dude was your brother," Gwen remarked. "Or that you hated each other's guts."

"I do not hate my brother, nor does he hate me," Aristophanes said, pausing momentarily from rowing to speak his mind. "We love each other very much, actually. That love, unfortunately, has become clouded. He was always more of an adventurer than me, if you could believe that. But he never had the strength to break free from the expectations of his elders - he went on to join the Assembly, while I tasted true freedom on the seas. I understand his bitterness."

Aristophanes continued to row. Roughly twenty minutes after casting off from the dock, the skiff was bumping up against the hull of the _Viridian Wind_.

"Ahoy down there!" one of the corsairs - a gunner's mate named Brygos - hollered down to the skiff as it approached. "Are me eyes shot through with madness, or is our lovely Witch about to return to us?"

"Our lovely Witch, aye!" another corsair shouted from the rigging above. "And our even lovelier first mate!" At that, the entire deck of the _Viridian Wind_ rumbled with laughter and hooting catcalls.

Aristophanes chuckled quietly, but hid the grin before any of his men could see it. "Lower the bloody lines, you jackanapes, before I have the bosun flog the lot of you!"

The captain of the _Viridian Wind_ was waiting on deck to greet Gwen and Aristophanes by the time the skiff was secured and raised from the water. Gwen knew that it was custom in the navy for officers to ask the captain for permission to come aboard, but Aristophanes merely climbed over the railing and set foot on the deck without asking beforehand. Corsairs were a bit more informal.

"Welcome aboard, Witch," the captain helped Gwen out of the boat, giving a nod to the crewmen working the lines. "Aristophanes, I believe you have some explaining to do."

"You would be correct, sir," Aristophanes hummed in agreement. "But first, may we set sail and leave this bay? I do not like having the Fleet breathing down our necks, here."

The captain gave a single nod. "Agreed. Give the orders. Join me in my cabin when we are clear of the bay. That goes for you, too, Witch."

While Aristophanes and the crew set about readying the _Viridian Wind,_ Gwen made her way up to the bow of the ship. The ship's emerald-green sails were unfurled, flapping aimlessly for a few moments before catching the wind and ballooning outward. Gwen gripped the rail as the _Viridian Wind_ pitched forward.

Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, relishing the smell of the sea. She opened her eyes again, fixing her gaze on the mouth of Metropolis Bay, waiting in the distance, and beyond...the open ocean. Her quest. She was finally _moving,_ again, as Light was supposed to.

Gwen held that thought, and she held it close. She watched Skaia as it started to sink down to the west. It would be nightfall before long, and then Gwen would go belowdecks to get some sleep. She only wished that she could have a pleasant dream, for once.

Shaking her head to avoid thinking about her dreams, Gwen closed her eyes once more and settled for enjoying the feeling of the light breeze on her face.

"_Good to be moving, again…_"


	67. V Chapter 67: Reckless Endangerment

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Reckless Endangerment

"I got a bad feeling about this," Theo murmured, watching the approaching Dersite military convoy through his pair of binoculars. "They're not even locking down the route…"

"Shit, Theo, you got a fuckin' bad feeling about everything," Gino growled.

"Aw, c'mon, guys!" Theo complained. "This ain't good. The Veteran warned us, he said-"

"Fuck the Veteran." Gino's scowl deepened. "We're fuckin' _Heroes,_ guys. _Heroes._ Does that mean we're s'posed to just...what, let a fuckin' Dersite prick tell us what to do all the time? No! Jesus H. Fuck, they're s'posed to be doin' what _we_ say!"

Theo made eye contact with Gwen while Gino ranted, pleading silently for help, but all Gwen could do was shrug. Gino was dead set on this course, and he would not be deterred. They had come too far to turn back.

Less than an hour ago, when Gino had woken up from his forced sleep, he had done so quite explosively. Shouting, swearing, name-calling...he had cut a swathe straight to the radio room in the basement of the Wrathful Veteran's command post, where Theo and Gwen had been working with the radio operators to hack into the military channels.

The timing had been perfect. Or terrible, depending on the point of view. What had happened was this: the moment the Wrathful Veteran finally managed to calm Gino down, the dissenters hacked into the Dersite military channels. Within a minute, the dissenters learned of Cass's location - a hospital in Long Night District. The surgeons there had stabilized Cass enough for her to be taken to Derse. The military was going to move her to a waiting ship via armored transport.

Gino, still raw from the events the day before, leaped on that. He'd demanded the Wrathful Veteran send in forces to rescue Cass before she was taken off-world. The Veteran was not convinced, however - he had expressed fears of a rescue attempt being what the Black Queen was hoping for, cautioning Gino against rushing headlong into the commandos.

Theo and Gwen had watched helplessly as Gino stormed out of the radio room, shoving past the armed guards outside. Even as he left, Theo glanced over at the Wrathful Veteran. The Dersite revolutionary leader merely nodded once and said, to both him and Gwen, "_Stop him, if you can. Stall him if you cannot. I'll be behind you shortly. Rescue the Sylph if the opportunity presents itself._"

Theo and Gwen had followed Gino straight to the Hub, but were unable to keep him from using it, leaving them no choice but to follow. And now, the three Heroes found themselves on the second-story rooftop of a diner, about a mile or so away from the hospital, waiting for Cass's armored transport to pass by.

"We have a plan, here, G?" Gwen asked, drumming her fingers nervously on the railing.

"Yeah, we'll hit 'em with everything we got once they drive past us," Gino replied.

"What does that even mean, 'everything we got'?" Theo spoke up again. "We're going up against an entire convoy of soldiers, dude. _Soldiers._ These guys have been fighting literally since they were born, and you want to go and attack all of them with just the three of us."

"Three _Heroes,_" Gino reminded his friend. "Three Heroes can handle it, no problem. Cass is down there, bro. We gotta get her back."

"And what if we lose one of _us_ in the process?" Gwen asked. "Would you consider it a fair trade if we got Cass back but lost Theo? Or me? Or, God forbid, _you? _How would that leave us in a better situation than what we're in right now?"

"Gwen, Jesus Christ, we're not losing anyone!" Gino finally snapped. "If we don't get Cass back now, they're gonna take her to the Silent Dungeon, and then we'll _never_ get her back! It's now or never, guys! Right here, right now, now or never! I'll go up against that fuckin' convoy all by my goddamn self, if that's what it takes, but I'd rather have friends backin' me up! So what's it gonna be, huh?"

"Gino, look, we want to help you, but-"

"If you wanna help me, then _follow_ me." And with that, Gino vaulted himself over the railing, right as the convoy started passing by on the street below, dropping down to the canopy over the diner's entrance.

"_Shit,_" Gwen swore.

"C'mon, Gwen, he can't do this by himself!" Theo exclaimed, jumping after his friend. "Asshole's gonna get himself killed if we don't help."

There were six vehicles total. One armored transport, two tanks, and three humvees. The two tanks formed both the front and rear of the convoy, with the armored transport among the humvees in the middle. Gino went straight for the lead humvee, right behind the first tank. He sprinted out into the road, right into the convoy's path. The commandos were surprised, for a few moments, that the attack they were no doubt expecting was happening in such a direct and forthright manner.

Theo watched Gino shove what appeared to be a grenade into the exhaust pipe of the moving humvee. When the grenade detonated, it took the humvee's fuel tank with it, causing the entire vehicle to brew up in flames. Two of the commandos inside managed to bail before the flames got to them, but none of the others made it out.

Gwen had already retrieved her Walther handgun from her strife specibus. When she landed on the street, she dropped to a knee, took aim, and fired, felling one of the surviving commandos. The second commando managed to get back to his feet and raise his weapon, but Gwen had already readjusted her aim, clipping the Dersite soldier's neck. The Dersite commando went down, blood spurting from the wound in his neck. He was not dead, but he was down for the count.

By now, the commandos in the other vehicles had recovered from the initial shock of being blindly attacked by three Human teenagers, and they started to return fire. Commandos were offloaded from the remaining two humvees, and the turrets mounted atop the two vehicles came roaring to life. The three teens were forced to take cover behind the burning wreckage of the destroyed humvee.

While the destroyed humvee proved suitable as cover from the commandos' weaponsfire, there was one thing it could not protect the Heroes from: the lead tank. The tank in the front of the convoy had already stopped, its upper portion swiveling around. When it made a full one-eighty degrees, the tank's main cannon would be pointing right in the Heroes' faces.

"Gwen, cover me!" Gino shouted, springing up to his feet, retrieving his powered knuckledusters from his own strife specibus.

"Cover you?" Gwen hollered back. "How the fuck am I s'posed to do that? Ask all the commandos out there politely to please stop discharging their fucking firearms in a public place?"

"Just empty a goddamn clip and make them duck, or some shit!" Gino snapped. "Don't let them get me, or that tank's gonna turn us into fuckin' sunshine!"

"It's not a 'clip', smart one, it's a _magazine!_"

"_Just fucking cover me!_"

Gwen broke cover screaming, firing away at any commandos within her direct line of sight. When her magazine ran empty, she retrieved another one from her sylladex, reloaded, and started picking her targets more carefully. Theo was helpless - he did not have any guns. And even if he did, he had no clue how to use them. Playing an insane amount of Call of Duty was one thing, but actually holding a weapon and firing it at a living creature… He clutched the unbreakable baseball bat from his strife specibus, the bat his grandma had given to him as a gift, holding it like a security blanket.

During all this, Gino sprang back up to his feet and broke cover, rushing the lead tank. He jumped up and grabbed the barrel of the main cannon, hanging from it as if he was playing on the monkey bars. He then swung himself up on top of the main cannon, balling his free hand into a fist, and bringing it down onto the barrel. His powered knuckledusters flashed with white light as they registered the shock of the blow.

Normally, Gino would have walked away from that tank with nothing to show for his efforts but an incredibly bruised and throbbing hand. But the powered knuckledusters, alchemized with omnicrystal, greatly amplified the impact force of his blows, dealing damage that should normally have been impossible.

Gwen actually managed to take out one of the commandos who was shooting at her. She was laying down suppressing fire, so she did not expect that to happen. Unfortunately, her victory, if it could be described as a victory, was short-lived. Just as the second magazine clicked empty, a stray energy bolt caught Gwen in the right shoulder. She was spun around to the right and knocked off her feet, falling to the ground screaming.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" Theo reached out and helped Gwen pull herself back up against the wreckage, his eyes widening at the blood beginning to flow from her shoulder wound. Theo's breathing started to grow shallow. "What do I do? What do I-" He was cut off suddenly by Gwen grabbing him by his shirt with her left hand and giving him a good shake.

"Listen to me!" Gwen yelled in his face. "You gotta pull yourself together! Pick up my gun!"

"Gwen, I don't know how to shoot-"

"_Pick up the fucking gun, Theo!_"

Theo scooped up Gwen's Walther. The first thing he felt was surprise at the weight of the Walther - handguns were much heavier than they looked. Certainly heavier than Nerf weapons.

Weaponsfire clanked against the tank's armor plating - stray fire from the commandos in the rear of the convoy. While Theo was retrieving Gwen's handgun, Gino had struck the barrel of the main cannon twice more. The third time was the charm - a small dent was created in the metal. Gino leaped off the cannon, hurrying back to the wreckage just as the tank acquired its target and fired.

The tank shell struck the dent in the main cannon and exploded before it even left the barrel, causing the force of the explosion to ricochet back into the tank's interior. The tank slogged to the side as one of its treads was crippled. The hatch was blown open by a gout of flame, snuffing any hope for the survival of the crew inside, if anyone was hoping for that.

Under Gwen's instruction, Theo had reloaded the Walther. While the tank burned, Theo poked his head up and opened fire, shooting at any commandos he saw in that moment. He did not hit anything, unsurprisingly. Theo was shocked at the recoil, initially, adjusting his grip to avoid losing his grip on the handgun entirely and having it fly out of his hands. If that happened, there ran the risk of the handgun firing when it struck the ground, which could hit anything or anyone nearby.

Theo became aware of Gino diving back for cover, having successfully stopped the impending tank attack. "Alright, what now?"

"What?" Gino hollered back.

"We're pinned down, the commandos have a second tank back there moving into position, and this cover ain't gonna last too much longer!" Gwen shouted, picking up where Theo left off, doing her best to ignore the agony in her shoulder. "What do we do now?"

The wreckage of the destroyed humvee started to twist and heave under the combined firepower of the Dersite commandos. Chunks of metal were flying free, the structure of the wreckage buckling. As Theo said, it was not going to be able to hold out much longer. And when it went down, the three teens would be completely exposed.

Gino's eyes glazed over for a moment as he finally comprehended just how much trouble he and his friends were in. As he remained frozen, whispers started finding their way into Gino's mind, the crawling sensation that accompanied the Voices beginning to take hold. That was when Gino started moving again - shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, blinked.

"Alright…" Gino said. "...okay. That tank's gonna blow this cover to kingdom come, so we need to-"

The explosion drowned out whatever Gino intended to say next. The commandos were thrown into confusion when their second tank suddenly blew up.

More gunfire erupted from the windows of an office building, just across the street from the diner. On the rooftop, the Wrathful Veteran lowered the rocket-propelled grenade launcher, which he'd just used to take out the second tank, moving to reload.

Gino seized the opportunity. "Now's our chance, guys! Let's get that transport!"

While the commandos shifted their fire to accommodate their surprise dissenter visitors, Gino broke cover and made a beeline for the armored transport, which was caught in between the wrecks of the humvees in front of and behind it. Theo helped Gwen up to her feet and followed, doing his best to keep his breathing under control.

The access hatch of the armored transport was already open. Three commandos were emerging, and hanging limp in the arms of the third commando was Cass. She was unconscious, her abdomen wrapped in sullied bandages, her face, neck, and arms still covered in dried blood. Together, the three commandos started moving Cass towards the sidewalk. One of the commandos saw Gino coming, raised his rifle, opened fire.

Gino dove to the side, crying out in pain as one of the commandos' shots tore through his left thigh. He landed hard, clutching his leg, his face scrunching up.

Gwen shouted for her gun. Theo quickly handed it over to her. Having lost use of her right arm due to her shoulder wound, Gwen took the handgun in her left hand. Being right-handed, this was out of her comfort zone; but, luckily, when her Gramps had taken her to the shooting range, he'd trained her to shoot with both hands.

Gwen emptied the remainder of her magazine, firing a total of seven shots at the three commandos. Two of the Dersite soldiers went down - one of the shooters took a bullet to the neck and went down gurgling blood, and the commando carrying Cass crumpled to the asphalt after taking a round to the lower leg. Cass's body tumbled to the ground with its bearer.

The third commando hesitated, indecisive as to whether he should continue to attack the Heroes or grab Cass and retreat. By then Theo had reached the place where Gino had fallen. He gently shrugged off Gwen's arm. "Cover Gino," he said, retrieving his baseball bat from his strife specibus.

The third commando decided to continue shooting, but his hesitation cost him. He'd only just managed to raise his rifle when he caught sight of a flying baseball, registering in his brain only moments before it connected with his forehead, causing him to stagger, his rifle clattering to the street.

Theo sprinted as fast as he could while the commando tried to recover. He reached the sidewalk and quickly scooped up his bat from where it had fallen. The commando picked his rifle back up and struggled to aim at Theo, but the teenaged boy did not give him enough time. Just as the commando squeezed the trigger, Theo delivered a crushing blow to the side of the commando's head. The Dersite soldier was spun to the ground, blood flying. He did not get back up.

Theo felt something punch into his chest.

Theo did not know if the soldier was alive or dead. Considering the amount of red splatter on the baseball bat, 'alive' was looking more and more to be the unlikelier choice. But Theo did not have any time to think on this further, because that was when he finally acknowledged the pain in the right side of his chest and realized that he, too, had been shot. It must have been the commando's final shot when Theo clubbed him...he had not even felt the...well, no, Theo _had_ felt the impact...an almost hollow punching sensation in his chest...

Gwen swore when she saw Theo fall to the sidewalk, blood sullying his purple pajama top. "Wait here," she said to Gino. Gwen started moving for the sidewalk, only to be stopped by a hail of gunfire. Some of the commandos at the rear of the burning convoy had taken a renewed interest in the two Heroes who were sitting out in the open.

Gwen tried to run forward a second time, but was driven back again, nearly taking a wound to the leg as a result.

"_Witch! You must leave immediately!_" the Wrathful Veteran shouted from the rooftop across the street from Gwen and Gino - he must have moved from the roof of the office building during all the shooting. "_The Navy just landed an armored platoon to reinforce this convoy! They will be on us in less than a minute!_"

Gwen would have liked to have thought that she took a long time to make a decision. She would have liked to have thought that she had made her choice reluctantly. But the truth was, Gwen had made up her mind within a second of processing what the Veteran had just said. Her eyes tearing up, Gwen cast one last glance over to where Theo and Cass lay. "I'm sorry, guys…" she whispered.

Gwen hurried back to Gino and helped him up to his feet, balancing him on his good leg. Together, they made it back to the other side of the street, limping into the nearest alleyway, away from the shooting. Gino and Gwen said nothing to each other. There was nothing to say - all they could do was keep moving forward.

The Wrathful Veteran met with Gwen and Gino in the alleyway and took them north several buildings, leading them to a back entrance of the office building that had been occupied by the dissenter guerillas. The elevator was still functioning, fortunately, so the Veteran was able to easily get the two wounded Heroes up to the top floor, where a transportalizer pad was waiting.

Gino and Gwen emerged from the Hub, staggering out into the Onyx's northern supply depot. In twos and threes, the dissenter fighters followed, returning from the office building, the Wrathful Veteran emerging last. By then, medical personnel were hurrying into the supply depot with stretchers, taking the wounded dissenters away.

When the medics came for Gwen and Gino, the Wrathful Veteran intervened. "Take the Witch," he ordered them, "but not the Prince. The Prince will make his own way to the infirmary. Leave him a couple of bandages."

The medics cast each other looks, but did not disobey their leader.

The Veteran turned back to Gino, gesturing to the bandages. "I suggest you apply pressure to your wound. The energy bolt went clean through your leg without hitting any major arteries, but you will still lose a lot of blood if you do not apply pressure. Then I suggest you make your way to the infirmary and have it treated."

"Wait, what?" Gino blinked in surprise as Gwen was taken away, but he was left on the floor. "I got shot in the leg! You...you can't just _leave_ me here!"

"We lost the Thane because of your arrogance and your impatience, and nearly the Witch as well." The Wrathful Veteran was unsympathetic. "And I may lose three men because I chose to bring you back. For this, Prince, you will walk. Earn your right to be healed. Think on your actions."

With that, the Wrathful Veteran turned and walked away, leaving Gino alone.

"Well…" Gino murmured, struggling to get back up onto his one good foot, fighting back the tears that were threatening to form, the lump swelling in his throat. "I really fucked things up, this time, didn't I…"

_**Yes, Prince,**_the Voices replied, _**you have.**_


	68. V Chapter 68: Skaiaset

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Skaiaset

"_HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, SHOOT IT!_"

My throat was raw from the screaming, but I couldn't help it. Having a giant wyrm queen bearing down on me was making it very hard _not_ to scream.

Wyrm Queen. Yep. Turns out, all the wyrms living deep within Mount Goldmont were part of a hive in a network of caverns that extended far, far belowground. And like many species of insect, this hive had a queen. The wyrm queen was significantly larger than the 'regular' wyrms, which were already large to begin with. Almost thirty feet from head to tail, with an effective firebreathing range of one-hundred yards - the length of a football field - and razor-sharp fangs longer than my arms, the queen was a force to be reckoned with.

The queen had been waiting for Cass and me at the ledge in front of the entrance to the passageway we'd taken into this place. Probably seeking revenge on us for killing her entire hive, the queen had blocked our exit, blanketing the entire cavern in flame. All my attempts to fight, and then evade the monster were unsuccessful - the queen was too big, too powerful, and too fast.

So Cass and I had to get creative.

And by 'creative', I mean I dumped Cass on a ledge in the side of the cavern and was now leading the wyrm queen into her line of fire. That, and praying that she did not miss.

I folded my wings in close and corkscrewed to the left, barely avoiding the wyrm queen's latest fiery attempt to turn me into a tasty Sprite-kabob. I maintained my current trajectory long enough to outlast the queen's blast of fire, and also long enough for me to reach the cavern wall on the opposite end of the space from Cass's position.

I launched myself away from the cavern wall, heading straight towards Cass. This was it; the part of the plan where messing up meant death for one or both of us. I tucked my head down instinctively as I dove right under the oncoming wyrm queen. The gigantic underling let out a roar of irritation, flapping its wings madly to turn itself around in midair. But it recovered insanely fast and was coming up on my tail within two seconds.

That was fine, though. Necessary for this plan to work.

And, right about now, I was shouting the 'HOLY SHIT' rant at Cass. I'd waited until I could almost see her eyes before folding my wings and dropping through the air like a stone. The moment I was out of the way, Cass opened fire. Now, for those of you who have never heard an M16 assault rifle being fired, they are fucking _loud_. And inside a cavern, where everything echoes? They're fucking _louder_.

As a sprite, I'm perfectly capable of flight without having to use my wings, allowing me to arrest my own fall before I hit something. Ignoring the physical discomfort I was experiencing due to listening to live gunfire with an eagle's hearing, I was able to glance upward and see that the wyrm queen had forgotten me and was now heading for Cass.

Cass had switched her rifle to automatic, which she rarely ever did, emptying an entire magazine into the underling's head. Even as the wyrm queen opened its jaws, flames spilling from between its fangs, Cass held her ground and kept up her fire.

It was enough.

I could feel the Eagle's consciousness going into full predatory mode, which I was counting on. In the past, the Eagle and I would have fought for control of my body, but this time I got 'out of the way', allowing the Eagle to spread my wings and bring us back around and up in a tight loop. It was a move that I would not have been capable of making on my own.

While I let the Eagle take over flying, I kept enough control of my body to retrieve my sprite-matter sword. As the Eagle put me right up to the wyrm queen's underbelly, I drove my sword upwards and carved a bloody line from the queen's stomach to its neck. By the time the queen released its fire breath, it was already plummeting down into the depths of the lower caverns, viscera and the like falling from the wound that had killed it.

I had to swerve out of the way to avoid getting caught under the falling corpse. As it dropped past me, I held out a hand, focusing on my Aspect and using it to hold the corpse in mid-air. With my sword, I quickly removed the wyrm queen's head and captchalogued it into my sprite sylladex - Cass was going to need a head to bring back to the Dwarves. Once I had the queen's head, I released my hold on its corpse and allowed it to fall away into the darkness.

I let my sprite-matter sword dissolve back into light. Sensing that the threat was now taken care of, the Eagle's consciousness ceded its share of control back to me, retreating into the airier, more mountainous regions of my imagination, where it seemed to enjoy spending most of its time.

I gave several powerful wingbeats, propelling myself back to the altitude of Cass's ledge. I wrapped my arms around her and took back off, promptly returning us to the entrance ledge. Wordlessly, we dusted ourselves off, walked through the entrance chamber, and descended the stone spiral stairs before beginning the long walk through the dark tunnel that led to the outside.

Three days. That was how long it took for Cass and me to clear out the wyrm nest. Three days and three nights, all spent in darkness, where the only light was Cass's flashlight, my fire, and the luminescence generated by my sprite body. Oh, yeah, and also the fire from all the wyrms that were trying to roast us. Though since all that fire was aimed _at_ us, we really never had the chance to step back and appreciate it.

The queen made its first appearance right after we'd killed the wyrm door guards, the ones who'd tried to burn Cass and me to a crisp in the entrance chamber. The queen had swooped down from above and driven us from the ledge outside of the entrance chamber. To avoid getting killed by the queen, we had to plunge down to the very bottom of the cavern network that was home to this hive.

It took us three days to work our way back to the top. During the nights, we would hole up in a hiding place and sleep. We killed too many wyrms for me to keep count. We kept on killing them until, gradually, the caverns fell silent. Killing the queen had just been the maraschino cherry on the sundae. By now, despite the sleep we'd gotten while underground, we were still pretty damn tired, but neither of us wanted to sleep in these caverns. So we now forged onward, determined to reach the surface.

Even while we were underground, we could hear thunder raging above. But the longer we walked, the less frequent the thunder became. The storm was moving away. Gradually, though, the sounds of the thunder morphed from echoes and vibrations, to the actual _boom,_ letting the us know how close we were to reaching the surface.

It was not until light became visible at the far end of the passage that Cass broke the silence. "You remembered to get the head, right?"

"Yeah." I yawned. "I got it."

"Good...didn't occur to me to ask until now."

"You're just tired, is all," I said to her. "You haven't really been sleeping well these past few nights."

Cass grunted in the affirmative. "Bad dreams."

"Hallmark of a Derse dreamer."

"You have no idea."

We kept walking towards the light, which turned out to be somewhat deceptive - it still took us a long while to reach the surface. We emerged from the dark, narrow passageway, onto a natural ledge in the cliff face where the passageway's entrance was located. Normally, Dwarves would need to climb the cliff face to reach it, but I'd simply flown up to it.

Rather than immediately take to the skies, however, Cass and I decided to rest. We'd emerged from the mountain just as Skaia was setting. The storm that had been pounding Mount Goldmont earlier must have blown off to the east, somewhere out of sight - we still heard the thunder, but all we could see was the Skaiaset...which was enough.

"Now, will you look at that…" I murmured, my eyes widening as I took in the sight.

There were still clouds in the sky, but that did not ruin the Skaiaset at all - the light of Skaia, refracting through those clouds at the extreme angle of the horizon, painted the western sky with a brilliant display of colors. The low sky, closest to the horizon, was a brilliant gold, struck through with rays of orange from some of the clouds. The larger, darker clouds were colored red and purple, with the higher reaches of the western sky rendered a deep maroon. It was breathtaking.

The western face of Mount Goldmont was shining a deep yellow in the light of the Skaiaset, almost radiating heat.

Cass was just as dumbstruck as I was. Clear Skaiasets like these were rare on this stormy planet. Her mouth was hanging slightly open as she took in the sight, but she quickly became aware of this and promptly closed it. "I've never seen so many colors in a sunset, before," she said.

"Wanna watch it?" I asked her.

Cass nodded. We both sat at the edge of the ledge, Cass dangling her feet over the side, and me...well, I could only dangle the wispy light trail that formed the lowest point of my body. But for now, I just imagined that I had legs, too.

"Three days...we were down there for three days… Can you believe that?" Cass paused to give a yawn of her own. "I could sleep for a week. We really need to figure out a better way of spending time together. Too bad that date you asked me on never worked out-" Cass cut herself off, but it was too late.

"All I wanted to do was take you to China Grill." I continued to chuckle. "That's all I wanted. Just some good Chinese food. Just a restaurant. Like normal people. I could've done without the underling-infested jungle and the wyrm's nest."

It wasn't until I registered the silence coming from Cass that I realized the impact of what I'd said. I cursed myself on the inside - I remembered from my experience in the dream bubble that Adam had convinced Cass to skip school to go on a date with him, only to have this plan foiled when the school was hit by one of the Reckoning meteors. Adam had wanted to take her to China Grill, which was this pretty cool Chinese buffet in town, but...well, the point was that it was Adam who'd said all that, not me.

From how Cass had cut herself off right after speaking, she'd clearly forgotten that fact, even if only for a moment.

I had to stop thinking that those memories belonged to me. I'd just created another giant awkward silence, which I'm probably just perpetuating by letting my inner monologue go crazy, like this-

"Sorry," I said, interrupting the vapid mental flow. "Uh...look, I know I'm not the same person as Adam, I just...his memories… Sorry. Won't happen again."

I focused all my attention forward, watching the Skaiaset's colors slowly grow deeper and darker. Cass said nothing in response. That is, until I felt movement against my left hand… I looked down, but only with my eyes, and saw, to my amazement, that Cass's hand was now touching my own.

Shit, I wasn't expecting that. Um. Should I just…?

Stop thinking, maybe?

I held Cass's hand, interlacing my fingers with hers, and smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>END OF ACT V<strong>


	69. VI Chapter 69: Submerged

**Act VI: Concerning the Moving of Chess Pieces into Position for Endgame**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Sixty-Nine: Submerged<span>

Darkness. Cold, quiet darkness.

The cell was ancient, located in the oldest, deepest part of the prison, where even the rats did not lurk. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all dark gray stone. The door was a blank rectangle of steel. In the corner of the cell was a foul-smelling bucket, which was a third of the way full. The only imperfection in the cell was the small crack in the base of one of the walls.

Cass sat on the floor of the cell, resting against the back wall. There were chains clamped around her wrists and ankles, which prevented her from flying. Not that flying was of any use in here, but the guards did not like being inconvenienced.

Time grew fluidic and hazy within the confines of the cell. Cass had difficulty keeping track of hours and days. Sometimes she would find herself counting her breaths, though she would always zone out and lose concentration, wander off into the realms of her imagination, which were so much more pleasant than the ancient cell.

At first, there had been pain. After initially waking up in her cell, the last thing Cass recalled had been getting shot in the stomach. Much as she would have preferred to forget, the memories were there. Underneath her shirt was a large, puckered red scar, signifying recent surgery. It took a while for the pain to subside. Even now, the pain was still not gone. It was present, lurking in the shadows, a dull ache.

After the pain, there was denial. Cass would spend hours at a time screaming until her throat was raw, banging away against the walls with her fists until they grew sore and became bruised. When Cass's tantrums caused her manacles to cut into her wrists and ankles, eventually drawing blood, she eased up on the walls. Throughout the whole ordeal, however, the cell door remained blank, motionless, sealed. As it grew more and more difficult for Cass to ignore the fact that she was alone and no one was coming for her, the tears came.

Where had she gone wrong? That was one of the most prevalent thoughts in her mind. And it was a question to which she had no answer. Had she gone wrong when she had chosen to play Sburb in the first place? Perhaps, although the choice to not play Sburb would have resulted in her death, anyway. There were plenty of silver linings to be extracted from her choice to play Sburb, but when subsequent choices landed her here, in a small, dark prison cell...silver linings were hard to find.

And deeper than that, beneath the intellectual web of reason and rationale, Cass was homesick. She missed her mom. She missed her friends, too, her old life. Cass had never had very many friends, but she had always opted for quality over quantity. A few close friends, as opposed to a crowd of acquaintances. But now? There were only seven other people left alive with whom she could still be friends. And none of them were here.

Cass was alone.

After the tears, there came numbness. Cass cried until her eyes could no longer produce tears. And then, when the silence of the cell trickled back into the room and settled over its occupant, and all Cass could hear was the sound of her own breathing...she felt numb. Empty, almost. Worn out, exhausted.

Before long, sleep would claim her, and she would wake up next to Adamsprite as her 'real' self, back on the Land of Thunder and Dwarves. Word had spread among the consorts of how they had eradicated the Wyrm nest within Mount Goldmont, prompting the two companions to begin traveling to other mountain-cities to deal with similar nests. As talk of the Sylph's arrival began to travel from town to town, so too did rumors of dragon sightings.

But then, at the end of the day, it was back to sleep for Cass, which meant waking up in the Silent Dungeon as her imprisoned dream self. More pain from the surgery scar, more screaming, more tears, and then more numbness. Every time Cass woke up in her cell, the emotional cycle would repeat, though the numbness set in sooner each subsequent time.

After a few days, Cass stopped trying to make herself heard. It was only then, after her cell fell silent, that the small slot at the bottom of the door was opened, and a plate of bread crusts and a glass of water was pushed inside. It was a paper plate, preventing Cass from smashing it and using the shards as potential escape tools or weapons. Or even implements for suicide.

Cass had not even realized how hungry and thirsty she was until she downed that first joke of a meal. The taste of the bread exploded in her mouth, causing her to stuff it all in and swallow it without chewing very much. Anything to get the stomach to shut up. Unfortunately, eating the bread crusts served only to make Cass more hungry.

As more meals eventually came due to 'improved behavior', Cass learned to ration herself, but those first few days had been utter hell. Even after she adjusted, however, Cass's body was clearly starting to show signs of deteriorating as it was malnourished. As she settled into this horrible new routine, Cass would then find herself reflecting back on her life, recalling all those times she'd felt like she was in prison. Math class was a big one. The synagogue was another, especially Hebrew class. Cass's mom, who was born Israeli, had made sure her daughter picked up her native tongue.

What Cass would have given, right now, to go to just one more Hebrew class. Anything but this…

"_Psst...anyone hear me? Anyone over there?_"

Cass nearly jumped out of her skin. The voice had not been her own - Cass was ninety-five percent sure of that. Even so...the mere sound of a fellow voice was very surreal. She looked over to her left, stared at the small crack in the wall, blinked several times. Yes, that was where the voice had come from; she was sure of it, now. Cass slowly motivated herself to move and crawled over to the other wall, sitting back down right next to the crack.

Cass pressed an ear to the crack, listened. She heard nothing. No voice, no whispering, nothing but her own breathing. Still...there was a part of Cass's mind that refused to believe that she had imagined that voice. And so, for the first time in days, Cass decided to speak.

"Are you real?" Cass's voice was scratchy and hoarse from disuse, but she was still able to get the words out.

There was a pause. When the reply did not immediately come, Cass's breath stopped short, and she started to wonder if she was going crazy. But then the other voice answered her, thankfully, before that train of thought could go very far.

"_Yeah...yeah, I'm real, alright. How 'bout you?_"

Now Cass's eyebrows shot up as she recognized the voice. "Theo?"

"_Cass?_"

"Have you been down here this whole time?"

"_No, I was up in gen pop. Guards just moved me down to this cell today._"

"Jen what?"

"_No, 'gen pop'. General population. You know, prison._"

"This is the Silent Dungeon, I'm assuming?"

"_Oh yeah, right on the dot_. _Oldest part of the prison, too. Only the unluckiest of the unlucky get sent all the way down here._"

That made Cass grunt, which promptly caused a fit of coughing. "I guess being a Hero is about as unlucky as it gets," Cass rasped, recovering from the bout of hacking and coughing.

"_Yeah._"

Theo filled Cass in on what had happened in the wake of her getting shot, although his memories of the failed rescue attempt were fuzzy, at best. He had been shot, too, after all.

"Theo?" Cass asked, after her friend was finished.

"_Yeah?_"

"When did it become normal for us to get shot?"

"_What?_" Theo was caught off-guard by the simplicity of the question.

"Three of us have been shot. Two of us have been stabbed. I'm starving in a jail cell. What kind of game is this? We're getting torn to pieces. What the hell are we even doing here?"

There was a silence from the other side of the cracked wall. Cass's question must have struck home. "_That's the sixty-four dollar question, alright... I'll be honest, I haven't really had time to think about it. 'Til now, I guess. Plenty of time now._"

Another silence. This time, Cass was the one who broke it. "You sound good. At least, for someone who's survived the Silent Dungeon for...how long has it been?"

"_Five days for me, I think. And around a week for you,_" Theo replied. "_I can't tell, anymore. Time goes all screwy inside here._"

"Another thing we can agree on."

Theo and Cass continued to speak to each other. For Theo, it was good to hear the voice of a friend - not many of the inmates upstairs had been very friendly. The more harmless inmates tended to stick to the shadows, more, avoiding the hostile and the mentally troubled. Theo had nearly been stabbed on three separate occasions, and some part of him was actually grateful to be far removed from the despair of the others.

But that meant coming down to the hole, solitary confinement, where the only light in the holding cells came from the weak glow of the light bulbs screwed into the ceiling. For Cass, who had been confined in the hole for nearly a full week, it was simply good to hear another voice. Any voice would have done - Cass was grateful it was her friend, but she would have settled for just about anyone.

If she had known what was coming, Cass might not have spoken so much. She would have known to save her energy.

Footfalls echoed in the hallway beyond the cell door. The footsteps were heavy and resounding. Boots. And there were a lot of them. This was not just a single guard coming to push a hunk of stale, sometimes moldy bread through the door slot - there were several individuals walking down the hall.

"You know what's going on?" Cass spoke through the crack one last time.

"_No clue,_" Theo's response was. "_I have another bad feeling, though…_"

The footsteps stopped outside Cass's cell. She heard the jingle of keys, followed by the dull _clunk_ of the lock being turned. The door swung open to reveal a tall Dersite wearing an immaculate black suit and a bowler hat. He had narrow white eyes and a small, pursed mouth. Flanking him were four prison guards.

The tall Dersite gave Cass a faint grin. "Hello, Sylph. Nice to finally meet you in person." He gave a single nod to the guards as he spoke.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Cass asked as two guards entered her cell. They lifted her up to her feet and unlocked the manacles on her wrists and ankles, freeing her from the wall. The freedom was fleeting, however - the guards put Cass in handcuffs immediately afterwards.

"You may refer to me as 'Dignitary'," the tall Dersite replied. "Though, admittedly, you may wish to call me 'Droog' by the time we are finished tonight. There is little in this place that is dignified. Come, Sylph. It is time."

"Time for what?"

The Draconian Dignitary's grin widened by a hair. "Time for us to begin."

Cass was taken to a small room at the end of the hallway. This room was not a cell, however. It was an interrogation chamber. There was a granite countertop built into one of the walls, with a row of cabinets up above. Built into the countertop was a large sink. And in the middle of the room were two big metal chairs with restraints, facing each other.

The guards put Cass in one of the chairs. The restraints were even less comfortable than the manacles back in the cell. There were metal bands that clamped down around her wrists, elbows, thighs, and ankles - completely immobilizing Cass's arms and legs. A final restraint secured over the neck immobilized Cass's torso, preventing her from trying to headbutt anyone who came too close.

Not that it would have mattered - Cass was too weak to fight back against the guards, even if she'd wanted to. She had essentially been starved for a week, and keeping up the conversation with Theo had drained more energy than she'd first thought. Still, that did not keep the pit of fear from settling in her stomach. She did not know what was going to happen, but one look at the interrogation room and the chairs was enough to tell Cass that this probably would not have a happy ending.

After securing Cass to the chair, the four guards left the room, leaving the teenaged girl alone with the Dignitary. After the door closed, in the ensuing silence, Cass realized that she was nearly hyperventilating. She quickly brought that under control, but the Dersite had already noticed.

"No need to be afraid, Sylph," the Dignitary assured Cass, crossing over to the sink and turning on the water, proceeding to wash his hands. "Not yet, at least. I am not going to begin until the guards bring your friend, so you may rest easy for the next thirty seconds."

The guards returned in twenty seconds. Theo was dragged into the chamber sporting a newly-gained black eye. When the Dignitary gave the guards a questioning arch of the eyebrows, the senior guard explained, "Inmate got disrespectful when we removed his restraints. Had to discipline him. Nothing broken." With that, the guards set about putting Theo in the chair facing Cass.

The Draconian Dignitary shut off the water and dried his hands on a towel from one of the drawers. "Glad to know you still have fight left in you, Thane," the top-ranking Agent said. His faint grin had not gone away, but it had now become frozen. It did not reach his eyes. "That is strength you will need. However, it is not your physical strength that I will be testing tonight."

Theo's response was short, simple, and direct. "Fuck you."

The Dignitary blinked once in reaction to the language. He then gave another nod to the guards. "Thank you, gentlemen, you may leave now."

"Just hit the buzzer when you're finished. We'll come and clean up," the senior guard said. And with that, the four guards filed out of the interrogation chamber, shutting the door behind them.

The Dignitary opened one of the cabinets. Cass saw the glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. When she turned to look at the cabinet, her breath caught in her throat. There were several rows of sharp tools and assorted objects within the cabinet, ranging from knives and cleavers to scalpels and syringes.

Theo looked over to the cabinet as well. He grimaced, turning back to meet Cass's gaze. Blue eyes met violet. "_It's gonna be okay,_" Theo whispered.

Cass did not believe him.

The Draconian Dignitary selected a small pair of wickedly-sharp shears from the cabinet. When he turned back to face the two teens, he could see their nervous glances. He felt tempted to play with his food a little bit more, but the Dignitary suppressed the desire. It was time to get to work.

"You are both looking at me holding these shears, and you are wondering what I am going to do," the Dignitary said, speaking the truth. "Not knowing this is causing you great amounts of stress. Well, do not worry, for I will now explain to you exactly what I intend to do with these shears. First, Sylph, I am going to remove the little finger on your right hand. I will do this in three separate portions - first the fingertip, then the middle part, and then the lower part. Then, Thane, I am going to ask you a question, and you are going to answer it. If you do not answer, then I will go to work on the Sylph's ring finger. If you answer falsely, then I will remove the skin from the Sylph's ring finger before amputating it. Do you both understand?"

Cass was having trouble comprehending the Dersite. He spoke in a very smooth, eloquent tone, which did not communicate the brutality of what he was saying. Being threatened with torture in such a matter-of-fact manner was very off-putting. Cass took a deep breath. "Theo…"

"Hey, look," Theo spoke at the same time as Cass; fear was getting the better of him, as well. He'd been expecting to be worked over by the guards - beaten up, bloodied a bit, maybe a broken bone or three...but this? Theo had not expected this. "I'm obviously the one with the information you want. So I'll talk. Alright? I'll fucking talk. I'll answer your questions, just don't hurt my friend."

The Dignitary ignored Theo, walked behind Cass's chair, took her right hand. The teenaged girl did not even try to keep her finger away by balling her hand into a fist. She knew that would only have led to more pain. The Dignitary opened the shears and snapped them back shut, testing them. He then paused, glanced down at Cass. "Are you comfortable, Sylph? Would you like any adjustments with the restraints?"

Cass looked up, making eye contact with the Dersite. "Please don't do this," she whispered to him. She knew it was fruitless, but for some reason she had not been able to keep silent.

"No avoiding it, I'm afraid," the Dignitary replied, placing Cass's little finger in his shears. "Prepare yourself. You will not feel it, at first. But then you will."

The Dignitary had not been lying - when he squeezed the shears and the sharp metal blades bit straight through the bone of Cass's finger, she felt nothing. Time almost seemed to stop, and her eyes felt like they were as wide as planets. She heard the wet thud of her severed fingertip hitting the stone floor.

Cass was still aware of Theo shouting, though she could no longer make out the individual words. Her friend was still yelling at the Dignitary, still begging for him to stop. It was a wasted effort, though. Beyond the shouting, Cass was aware of the sound of her own heartbeat. It almost felt like it had slowed down, each _thump-thump_ growing more and more resounding as the adrenaline roared through her system and she started passing into shock.

Just as the very first tendrils of pain began creeping their way into Cass's conscious awareness, the Dignitary slid his shears down to the next joint in Cass's finger. He squeezed again, severing the middle part of the little finger.

The second cut was worse. Cass could feel the snap of the bones, this time, and she could see that her entire hand was now smeared with red. Her eyes watered. That was when the pain came barreling in. It felt like Cass's hand was simultaneously on fire and being stabbed. She heard even more screaming. A small part of her mind found itself musing for a few moments on how familiar all the screaming sounded, before realizing that it was her own voice.

The Draconian Dignitary took Cass's bleeding stump and, with one last cut from the shears, removed it from the knuckle. The last part of the finger dropped down to the floor, splashing down next to its two companions in the small puddle of blood that had fallen from Cass's hand.

"_Stop it, stop it!_" Theo was thundering. "_Jesus Fucking Christ, you fucking psychopath, STOP IT!_" He, too, was beginning to hyperventilate, feeling the initial brushes of an asthma episode lurking just beyond arm's reach. Blood was beginning to seep down his arms and neck - metal restraints were not kind to those who struggled fiercely against them.

"No need for any further bellowing, Thane. The Sylph is already making enough noise for the both of you." The Dignitary straightened up after making the last cut, stepping away from the convulsing girl. He crossed back over to the sink and ran the bloodied shears under the water, cleaning them off. When Cass continued to sob and scream without showing any signs of quieting down, the Dignitary clicked his tongue in irritation, set the shears aside. He opened the drawer underneath the sink, pulling out a roll of black tape.

The Dignitary tore off a strip of tape and walked back over to Cass's chair. He cupped a hand under Cass's chin and forced her jaw closed, pressing the piece of tape over her mouth and smoothing it down. He almost sighed in relief as her screaming was muffled. "I apologize for the tape, Sylph, but you are quite a bit louder than what I was expecting," the Dignitary explained, not sounding the least bit sorry. "I simply cannot conduct my business if my ears are ringing. Now then, Thane, it is time for your question. Remember what I said earlier, or you will hear the Sylph scream again. I do not believe either of us wishes to experience that."

Theo tore his gaze away from Cass, the corners of his mouth deepening into a scowl. Hatred was beginning to simmer deep in his gut. But he kept himself from hurling insults at the Dersite. Acting like that would only result in Cass losing more body parts. "Fine, then. Ask."

"Where is the Wrathful Veteran's base of operations?" the Dignitary asked.

Theo hesitated, then said, "I don't know where it is. The dissenters use transportalizers. It could be anywhere."

"No speculation, please," the Dignitary interjected, polite enough to say 'please' even though it was not truly a request. "Start with what you know. The Sylph's remaining fingers will thank you."

Theo closed his eyes for a moment, mentally screaming as loud as he could before giving a grudging answer. "It's underground, somewhere. In a cavern, or something. Might be artificially-created. They have enough supplies and equipment to last forever down there. They call it the Onyx."

"Thank you, Thane, thank you very much," the Dignitary's ghostly grin returned. He turned away from Theo and headed over to the door, pressing the button on the call box next to the exit, signalling the guards to return. "The guards will escort you back to your cell. We are done, for now."

"That...that was it?" Theo could not hide his surprise. He had been expecting this to go on for hours. "That's all you're gonna ask me?"

"For today, yes," the Dignitary replied. "We start with the basics, and then we work our way forward from there. Do not worry; I have plenty more questions to ask, but it would not do to ask them all in one sitting. The Sylph might run out of body parts. Rest up, Thane, and tell the Sylph to do the same when she is coherent. I'm sure she can hear you through that crack in your cell's wall. I will see you again in two days."

With that, the Dignitary opened the door and left the room, leaving Theo and Cass in their chairs.


	70. VI Chapter 70: A Touch of Intimacy

Chapter Seventy: A Touch of Intimacy

The first thing Cass Galavis felt when she woke up was a gentle warmth that made her wish she could remain curled up for a year. She spent several minutes just lying there, content to let her mind wander the strange, blurred realm between sleeping and waking.

But then it was time for Cass to get up, or risk falling back asleep and regaining consciousness in the Silent Dungeon. Even an extra five minutes of comfort was not worth that.

Opening her eyes, Cass sat up and got her bearings. All at once, the memories of where she was came flowing back. She was in a simple, mostly-unadorned room. The walls were gray stone, and there was a single window in the wall over the bed. There was a brief spurt of panic when Cass looked up to the window and did not see any light, but it was quickly alleviated when the rational part of her mind reminded her that it was usually cloudy on her stormy world.

As if the powers that be were tuning into Cass's thoughts at that exact moment, there was a brief part in the storm clouds outside, allowing the skaialight to shine freely through the sky. It came through the window in a beam, bringing a brightness and life to the room that had not been there in the shade.

Cass found herself standing up and drifting over to the window, taking in a deep breath and looking outside. Currently, she was staying in Tyrene, which was a coastal city belonging to the dwarf-consorts of LOTAD. It was one of the largest cities on the planet - larger, even, than Goldmont. Busy, too - always dealing with trade and commerce from the various city-states located at different points along the same coast.

The window in Cass's room offered her a good view of Tyrene's Merchant Quarter, which was filled with bustling streets and squares, brilliantly colorful kiosks and canopies filled with different kinds of fabrics, spices, foods, and exotic wares. Sweet and savory aromas wafted up from the city below, teasing about Cass's nostrils, fueling the rumbling in her stomach.

Cass's stomach was not the only thing that was rumbling, however. Off in the near distance, out over the ocean, the clouds had grown dark and stormy once again. The little break in the clouds through which Skaia peeped moved on and closed, cutting off the beam of skaialight that had been shining over Tyrene. As Cass watched, the wind started to pick up, and lightning could be spotted over the water.

Still, business in the Merchant Quarter went on as usual. These dwarves were a resilient lot - not to be put off by a spot of bad weather. Thunderstorms were the norm on LOTAD. Cass shut the window when she started to feel raindrops on the wind.

Cass sat down on the cot and took a deep breath, content to remain quiet for a while longer. Quiet moments like these were growing fewer and farther between as the days went by. There were fewer and fewer online conversations with her friends, less contact with the others. Cass's simultaneous quest and imprisonment were consuming her, in ways both overt and subtle. Her emotions were sometimes in a state of flux, sometimes they were calm and still, but underneath it all was a weariness that Cass could always feel. A sort of empty feeling that no amount of rest could alleviate.

But there was one thing that made it somewhat bearable: company.

Cass had not slept in the cot. Instead, she had taken the blankets and slept on the floor, next to Adamsprite. She did this for two reasons - first, the heat given off by Adamsprite's body was incredibly comfortable; and second, she found she slept better when she was closer to him. Cass watched Adamsprite, now, wondered where the dreaming sprite boy's mind was wandering.

As they traveled to more cities, Cass continued to speak with Adamsprite about the state of his mind, which was continuing to heal from the trauma incurred by his forced resurrection. The Compulsion she'd felt in the beginning, the drive to get Adamsprite to open up, had dissipated. Now, Cass merely spoke with Adamsprite whenever he wished to have a conversation. She learned a little bit more each day about what her companion had gone through, what he was still going through.

Cass's work on LOTAD was helping the consorts a great deal - as more Wyrm nests were cleared out, the skies grew safer, and there were less attacks. But the swarms of winged underlings were concentrating in several key locations, sensing that their existence was now being challenged. And with rumors of dragon sightings being whispered throughout the land…

To be honest, Cass felt immense relief whenever Adamsprite wanted to talk to her. At least with him, she was able to help without feeling scared all the time. No sadistic Dersite Agents, no fire-breathing underlings, no threat of imminent death...just someone who needed to talk. She could help her companion with his fear, if not her own.

"_Like what you see?_"

Cass blinked several times as Adamsprite's voice registered in her brain. The sprite boy had woken up, and she had not realized that she'd been staring. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. She was at a complete loss for words.

Adamsprite noticed the color blossoming in Cass's face and allowed himself a small chuckle. "It's okay, don't hurt yourself. Pretend I didn't say anything." When all he got in response was more silence, the sprite boy knew something was wrong. And he had a good idea of what it was. "More bad dreams?" he asked, sitting on the bed next to his companion.

"Yeah…" Cass murmured, her gaze downcast. She was rubbing the little finger on her right hand. "Uh…sorry. I'm just glad to be awake."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

The Draconian Dignitary's voice flashed through Cass's mind, followed immediately by a twinge of pain in her finger. The teenaged girl swallowed loudly, her heart skipping a beat. "No," she replied. "No, I just…"

"Cass, c'mon. I can tell when you want to talk. More bad dreams?"

"The Dersites threw my dream self into prison."

The words were already flowing before Cass could stop them. She had wanted to spare her companion the finer details of what she was going through on Derse. It was not his burden to bear, and he had already been through so much already...it just hadn't seemed right.

Cass no longer believed this. If she did not share her suffering with someone else, she felt like she was going to burst. Taking a deep breath, fighting the lump already rising in her throat, the tears beginning to sting her eyes, Cass continued to speak. "They...they threw me into prison a week ago, and...and they…" Cass paused for another breath. "They started interrogating. I lost a finger."

"_**WHAT?**_" Adamsprite's initial reaction was characteristically loud and explosive. His sprite body flared a bright vermilion, followed by a rush of almost blistering heat.

Cass winced. "Please...don't shout."

"But Cass, you… I… Sorry, I…" Adamsprite took a deep breath of his own, trying to calm down with limited success. "They cut your fucking finger off? I knew shit was hitting the fan on Derse, but I didn't know it was this bad! Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"I don't know, Adam, I've never been tortured in a fucking prison before!" Cass snapped, causing Adamsprite to actually flinch - he was not used to hearing her drop the f-bomb. Cass immediately regretted raising her voice, however, and she added, "It's hard for me to talk about. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Yeah."

There was a silence, lasting about twenty seconds. During those twenty seconds, Adamsprite's anger subsided, allowing the more rational parts of his mind to shine through once more. "Where are they holding you?"

"It's called the Silent Dungeon," Cass replied. "Oldest prison on Derse. It's a terrible place...dark, cold…"

"Okay." Without another moment's hesitation, Adamsprite closed his eyes. After a second or two of concentration, the sprite boy's body suddenly pulsed with pure, blinding white light, forcing Cass to look away.

When she opened her eyes again, the white light was gone and Adamsprite was catching his breath. "What was that?" she asked.

"I just called a few friends," Adamsprite answered. "They'll be here soon...we'll talk about your problems on Derse. Then we'll do something."

"No, Adam, don't worry about that," Cass said. "There are other Dersites. Dissenters. They're working on rescuing me and Theo."

That nearly caused Adamsprite's eyes to burst from their sockets. "_Theo's_ getting tortured, too?"

"What…? No, no," Cass stumbled over her words, attempting to clarify. "No, they aren't hurting him… I'm the one they hurt. Theo, he...they made him watch, and...if he hadn't started talking, I would've lost more fingers."

"Well, then, fuck those dissenters," Adamsprite growled, starting to rise from the bed. "It's been a week and they still haven't gotten you out. If they can't do it, then I'll fucking do it myself."

"No, please!" Cass's hand shot out and grabbed Adamsprite by the arm, stopping him from going too far. "You'll never make it. Not even you can take on all of Derse by yourself…please, stay with me. I… I don't want you to go."

Adamsprite tried to shake off Cass's grip, but when he turned back to look at her… She was starting to cry. In a mere moment, the rest of the sprite boy's anger was sucked away, leaving little behind other than sorrow. "Oh, Cass…" The sprite boy sat back down next to her and hugged her, drawing her close. She rested her head on his shoulder, her own shoulders beginning to quake as the sobs came bubbling to the surface. "_Shh…_ _It's gonna be okay. You're not alone_."

* * *

><p>Tami Abramov could not get Hemera's music out of her head.<p>

It was maddening, at first… A light, somewhat playful melody, dancing through the shadowy nether regions of her subconscious. Like a memory at the very threshold of one's awareness, but just out of reach. Tantalizing. Maddening.

It had been a week since Tami had ventured into her Denizen's Palace, meeting Hemera in the flesh. The last thing Tami remembered about the meeting was Hemera staring straight into her eyes, resting a hand on her forehead. An image of a Salamander-consort dressed in a fancy suit. And music…

As Tami traveled through her silent land, she found herself walking east. She did not know where she was going, but the music in her head grew clearer and clearer the further east she traveled. Bits and pieces of the strange, elusive melody started coming together. Patterns and motifs started making themselves apparent.

It was not enough for Tami to actually play it, but it was getting close.

Tami had reached her destination on the fifth day of traveling. She had crossed a different part of the pale desert - taking great care to avoid any Dersite mining operations - and navigated her way through another network of canyons and gorges, before finally arriving at the edge of a vast forest of shining omnicrystal trees on the fourth day.

The music was growing to fever pitch as Tami walked through the forest. It was almost as if the energy of the omnicrystal trees was driving it crazy. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was Tami's proximity to the temple located in the center of the omnicrystal forest.

On the fifth day, Tami reached this temple. It was a very simple structure. Small, too - no more than three stories tall. It was cone-shaped, with an altar at the very top. Engraved on the altar was an image of what appeared to be Skaia. Though she was not quite sure how, Tami instinctively knew that she had to play Hemera's melody here. And she had just the instrument to do it - the omnicrystal violin Hemera had given her.

There was only one problem: when Tami came within sight of the conical temple, the music went away. Vanished. Gone. Kaput. No matter how hard Tami concentrated, the music would not come. Time after time, she would sit on the altar with her violin and play the fragments of the melody which she could remember, but it was not helping.

The music would not come.

Tami sat on the altar and played through the night, and then straight through to the next day until Amadeusprite made her sleep. But the moment she woke up on the seventh day after meeting her Denizen, Tami got right back to work, attempting to unravel the melody.

The teenaged girl licked her lips with anticipation as she effortlessly glided through a series of chord progressions. It was the largest piece of the melody that she could remember, but no matter how many times she played it...it was beginning to stagnate. After reaching the last progression, Tami found herself once again stopping short, staring straight into a wall of _blank_.

"Tami?" Amadeusprite's voice brought Tami fully back to her senses. "Tami, I need to go."

"What?" Tami lowered her violin, placing it on the altar next to her. To be honest, she was grateful for the interruption - her inability to remember the melody was frustrating her to a certain degree that every artist can relate to. She needed a break.

"I need to go," the sprite mouse repeated himself, his body glowing with muted green tones. He was not happy - when he was in a cheerful mood, which was most of the time, Amadeusprite's body shined a brilliant emerald green. Now, he looked a little faded.

"What do you mean you need to go? Why?" Tami realized that she was starting to raise her voice and quickly regained control. She did not want to yell at her sprite. "What's going on?"

"Don't know," Amadeusprite replied glumly. His English had improved so much that the sprite mouse was now even using contractions. "It's the red sprite. He's very angry. Something serious."

"Adam's sprite?" Tami asked. "The one that went all psycho?"

"Yes. He's not crazy, though. Just angry. I need to go."

"Okay…will you be back?" Tami slipped in that last question before her sprite mouse could leave. She would never say it aloud, but she really did not want to be left all by herself in this land where there was rarely any sound. Having a sprite companion around just to talk to had been far more essential to her peace of mind than Tami had initially realized.

Amadeusprite nodded. "Yes. I'll come back."

"Okay, then." Tami got up from the altar and threw her arms around her sprite mouse, drawing him close into a tight embrace. She kissed Amadeusprite once on the snout and whiskers before letting him go. "Don't take too long, alright? I'll miss you."

"Miss you, Tami." Amadeusprite turned away and started to fly, but held back at the last second. He looked at Tami, blinked once, and said, "Try playing something you already know. Might make it easier to play something you don't know."

With that, the sprite flashed neon green and shot up into the sky, leaving the Land of Crystals and Silence far behind.

Tami watched her sprite go, unable to ignore the twinge of sadness in her stomach. She'd grown quite fond of the little guy. His language was getting better, and he had a mind like a playful child's. And he was very affectionate. Tami loved his hugs. She wished she could have more hugs.

After Amadeusprite passed from view, Tami returned to the altar. Before picking up her violin, however, she first stood up perfectly straight and pressed her palms together, holding them both at heart center. She then did a few sun salutations, keeping her breathing consistent and relaxed as she flowed through the different yoga positions.

Tami could feel the energy of this temple. It was a very subtle sort of vibration that almost made her body feel like it was full of static electricity. Humming. This feeling was only intensified after Tami finished her sun salutations, bringing her mind and body to a state of deeper relaxation.

Only then did Tami take up the violin, nestling her chin in the chin-rest, quickly re-tuning the instrument. The omnicrystal violin was truly a work of art - the quality of sound it produced would put even a stradivarius to shame. Each individual note resonated with a power of its own.

Then she began to play.

Taking Amadeusprite's advice, Tami played something very familiar to her. It had been one of her brother's favorites, one of the first pieces of music Tash had ever taught her. It was the second movement of Mozart's Violin Concerto Three - played in adagio, it was not a difficult piece. Slow, calm, patient music. Whenever Tami played this particular piece, she imagined she was lazily drifting through the moonlit waterways of Venice.

As Tami played, she minded her breathing and closed her eyes, losing herself to Mozart. Wherever tension made itself apparent in her body, she would simply take another deep breath and release it. Pretty soon, she felt as if she were floating. When she had first described this feeling to Tash, years ago, her brother had told her that the music was 'making her fly'.

The second movement was roughly eight to ten minutes long, but time lost its hold on Tami when she was in the zone. Before long, she eventually stopped hearing even Mozart behind the notes. The music continued to flow, transitioning from Mozart to something else. The bow moved faster and faster across the strings, speeding up the tempo.

The music seemed to almost take on a life of its own. For Tami's part, her mind had gone quite blank - she was playing, not thinking. It did not occur to her that she was playing something she had never played before. She did not notice all the cyan light that was beginning to shine from her body, nor did she feel the humming vibrations in the temple begin to increase in frequency.

But then, with a feeling like a surge of electricity jolting through her spine, Tami realized that it was indeed Hemera's melody that she was playing. She also realized that the reason her mind had been blank was because she had been unknowingly focusing all her concentration on a single image, the same one given to her by the Denizen. Tami stopped playing, her eyes snapping open.

The first thing Tami noticed was that she actually _was_ floating - about six or so inches above the surface of the altar. A cocoon of strange, cyan light had completely enveloped the entire temple, and from that light Tami could hear things. Snippets of music, fragments of words and sentences, voices, laughter…

Then the cyan light vanished, simply dissolving away into the air. Tami sank back down to the altar, blinking and looking around in confusion. She had very little idea of what had just happened, but...wait…

"_What the bloody hell…?_" asked the salamander-consort who was now standing in front of the altar.

"What the fuck?" Tami stared uncomprehendingly at the consort. He was clearly male based on his voice, wearing an expensive-looking tuxedo. It was difficult, at first, to reconcile the image of a nearly five-foot-tall salamander-person wearing a tuxedo. "Who the fuck…? Where did you come from?"

"I…" The salamander-consort blinked, looking around to get his bearings. "Last thing I remember, I was… I was...wait a moment…" The consort took a hesitant step forward, as if he were unsure he remembered how to walk. But he succeeded, and took another tentative step. He examined the altar, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the Skaia symbol engraved in the marble. "I was...chosen to… The Disembodiment…"

When the Salamander started swaying, his breathing growing labored, Tami acted fast. She put an arm around the Salamander and gently helped him sit down on the altar. She accessed her sylladex and produced a bottle of Poland Spring water. "Here," Tami said, unscrewing the cap and holding the bottle up to the Salamander's mouth. "Drink this."

The consort took a tiny gulp of water. He must have been thirsty, though, because after that first tiny gulp, the consort proceeded to down the entire bottle in less than five seconds. After catching his breath, the consort blinked several times and looked up at Tami. "Thank you—_glub!_"

Tami jerked her head back as the Salamander suddenly produced a bubble of saliva from his mouth. The bubble almost instantly burst in Tami's face, spraying her with spittle, causing her to gag.

"_Damnation…_" the consort swore, fumbling around in an inner pocket of his tuxedo for a moment before producing a large blue handkerchief. He offered it to Tami. "I apologize for that… I have not glubbed on someone since I was a child! Oh, this is quite embarrassing…"

"Hey, don't sweat it." Tami took the handkerchief, wiped off her face and neck. "Um. Okay, so...why don't we start with your name? Who are you?"

"My name is Jurgen von Kessler… I…" The Salamander paused for a moment, calming himself down, before asking the question that had been on his mind since he'd come to his senses. "How long has it been?"

"What do you mean?" Tami asked.

"Since the Disembodiment, how long has it been?"

"The dis...you mean when all you guys winked out of existence?"

"Yes, yes, how long has it been?"

"Um…" Tami swallowed, taking a moment to clear her throat. She'd seen this sort of thing in movies all the time - someone gets unfrozen, they ask how long they were asleep, and then the person who unfroze them has to give them the hard answer. "Well, um…about ten thousand years. Give or take."

A long, slow breath escaped from Jurgen von Kessler's mouth. "Ten thousand years…" he murmured. "Feels like a dream… But if I'm here, now, then that means... Hemera's plan worked…" Suddenly, Jurgen's breath caught in his throat, and he looked at Tami through new eyes. "Gods above, girl...are you the Muse?"

A week ago, Tami might have hesitated to answer. But now she was more sure than she'd ever been before. "Yes," she replied. "I'm the Muse. Welcome home, Jurgen. Would you like an autograph?"

* * *

><p>The Courtyard Droll took another sip of his grape juice. The short Dersite savored the flavor - grape juice was one of his utmost favorite drinks. Then he set the juice back down on the rock next to him, placing the little paper umbrella back in the glass.<p>

The Droll stood up, stretching his little arms and his squat legs, taking a few moments to yawn. Before he sat back down and returned to his magazine, the Droll started humming a little tune, walked up to the edge of the rock ledge he had set up camp on, gazed out over the breathtaking view of the jungle below.

It was a vast sea of luminous green - the jungle below was filled with bioluminescent moss, causing it to have a constant, bluish-green glow. The gray mist that covered the entire planet was hanging particularly low in this region of the Land of Fog and Shadow, so the bioluminescence of the jungle was amplified by the thick, heavy, dense moisture. It was quite a sight to see, as the fog was constantly moving with the breeze, causing the jungle light to move in a perpetual cycle of divergence and coalescence.

Still, the Droll wished he could have been sent to a planet with better weather. The jungle light and mist was very beautiful, but the Droll sorely missed being able to look up at the sky and see Skaia. Why could the Black Queen not have sent him to the Land of Lights and Smoke, with all its fragrant subterranean smoke-vents...or the Land of Shores and Prisms, with all its tropical island paradises and rainbows…

It could have been worse, though. The Droll certainly did not envy the Draconian Dignitary, who had been sent to the Land of Rain and Rivers. A planet of endless rain...well, the Droll was glad he did not have to deal with that kind of weather. He would not like being damp all the time. Especially not in the suit he was wearing - it was his favorite suit.

The Courtyard Droll lacked the Hegemonic Brute's trademark brutality, the Dignitary's intelligence, and the Archagent's combat prowess. But one thing the Droll outstripped all others in was patience. He was, by far, the most patient of the infamous quartet of top-ranking Dersite Agents. Even more so than the Dignitary, who was renowned for it. He had been waiting very patiently on this rock ledge for nearly two weeks, using a highly-sophisticated camouflage canopy to avoid detection.

The camouflage was needed because this particular rock ledge was located just below the lower reaches of Whiterock Eyrie - one of the more powerful eyries of the ptero-consorts of this planet. It would not have done wonders for the Droll's lifespan were he to be discovered by the consorts of this land. If the first thing they had done with the Thane was to toss him off a cliff to see if he could fly, the Droll could only imagine what they would do to him.

Speaking of the Thane…

The Courtyard Droll turned his attention over to the TV monitor he had set up underneath the camouflage canopy, switching to Feed Three. The Droll had set up nearly a dozen cameras around Whiterock Eyrie - this had taken him several days to accomplish, and he'd nearly been found out on at least four separate occasions. But he had succeeded.

Feed Three was one of the cameras trained on the home where the Thane was currently living, which belonged to a member of the Hunter's Guild. And right now, it showed the Thane himself, still speaking to his sprite - a spritified man wearing what appeared to be an old-fashioned diving suit.

It was fortunate the Droll had chosen to check the monitor at that moment. As he was about to look away, the Droll saw the Thane pull his sprite into an embrace. It was at that moment that the Droll realized the Thane was saying goodbye to his spirit guide and friend - after embracing the Thane, the blue sprite soared up into the sky and flew away, vanishing into the misty sky. The Courtyard Droll's eyes teared up a little bit at the moment, and he had to grab a tissue to wipe his nose.

But then the Droll remembered his orders. He quickly downed the rest of his grape juice and stowed away the glass. Then he grabbed his walkie-talkie and turned it on, tuning in to the right frequency. "Hello? Jack? You there? Helloooo?"

There was a brief pause. Then static issued through the walkie-talkie, and the gravelly voice of the Archagent responded. "_Spades here. Stop using my name over the goddamn radio._"

"Oh, er...sorry," the Droll apologized, stumbling over his initial words before trying again. "This is Clubs reporting in. Er… The Thane of Breath's sprite just left, sir. Would you like me to proceed?"

Another pause. Then, "_Did you just say his sprite left?_"

"Yessir," the Droll replied. "Just like you said might happen."

"_Then why are you still on this channel, Clubs? Kill the windy fuck_._ And report back in when you're finished._"

"You got it, Spades."


	71. VI Chapter 71: Gauntlet

Chapter Seventy-One: Gauntlet

"_...then why are you still on this channel, Clubs? Kill the windy fuck. And report back in when you're finished._"

There was a silence in the central radio room of the Onyx as the transmission died, dissolving back into static. The Wrathful Veteran could feel his heartbeat increasing, anxiety beginning to creep its way into his shoulder muscles, his breath. All eyes in the radio room were focused, unblinking, on the Veteran, waiting for him to speak. "This is bad," he finally declared. "This is very bad."

The Veteran could see it all happening. First, the Courtyard Droll would kill the Thane's waking self. The Thane would not see it coming. Once the Thane's waking self was dead, his consciousness would temporarily transfer to his dream self, at which point it would quickly succumb to the same wounds sustained by the waking self.

That is, unless someone could permanently revive him...but then, even if such a thing were possible, it would not have mattered. The Thane's dream self was at the mercy of the Black Queen. Once the Droll called in to confirm his kill, the Queen would immediately press advantage and have the Thane's dream self killed as well.

This would completely remove one of the Heroes from the equation. This could not happen.

Only one option remained. A longshot at best, the Veteran knew, but it was better than no hope at all. "Where's the Prince and the Witch?" the Wrathful Veteran asked.

* * *

><p>After the debacle that had resulted in Theo's capture and subsequent incarceration in the Silent Dungeon, Gino and Gwen had found themselves with quite an abundance of time on their hands. Rescue operations were being planned by the Wrathful Veteran, but reconnaissance was needed.<p>

When the wound in his leg healed up enough for him to walk again, Gino was quick to join Gwen in helping out the rescue operations any possible way he could. Though he did not speak of it, Gino felt a deep guilt over having indirectly caused Theo's capture. Anything that happened to his friend in that prison, Gino felt, was his fault.

And so, two days ago, when the Wrathful Veteran approached him with the assignment of performing reconnaissance on the Silent Dungeon itself, along with Gwen, Gino had accepted without a second thought. He had not known what to expect from this assignment.

One thing Gino had definitely not seen coming was having sex at the top of a clock tower.

He and Gwen had kept strictly to business for the first day. It had been tough, though. Yes, they were worried about their friends, and yes, they knew that they were carrying out a very important task for the Wrathful Veteran. But that did not change the fact that, underneath the Hero Titles, they were still teenagers. Stressed teenagers who had not had sex in a long while due to the world ending, who had also just been given an overabundance of alone time in a room with a breathtaking view. Gwen and Gino's kiss from a week ago still fresh in both their minds, their conversations gradually grew less business-related and more personal.

Gino found himself sharing thoughts and feelings he had shared with no one else. He spoke to Gwen about the Voices he heard, sometimes. He spoke about the guilt he felt at Theo and Cass's capture. He shared the trauma he had gone through as a result of getting brutally stabbed through the back of his head while trying to protect Tami from an assassination attempt.

Gino continued to share his mind with Gwen, until one thing led to another and he found himself on top of her. Gino kept right on going until Gwen quivered and moaned softly, at which point he pulled out and rested. "Jesus…" he murmured, wiping the sheen of sweat that had beaded on his forehead. "They should make this an Olympic sport."

It took Gwen a few moments to regain enough coherence to reply. "That so?" she asked. "And how would it be judged? Duration? Number of orgasms? What separates Gold Medal sex from Silver Medal sex?"

"Dunno." Gino gave a thoughtful hum while he removed his condom and tied it off. "One's good. The other's better. And neither is unfortunate enough to be considered Bronze." He tossed the condom away.

Gwen made a face as she watched Gino's condom sail across the abandoned clock tower chamber they had holed up in, striking the back of one the giant clock faces. "Really?" she said, arching an accusing eyebrow.

"What?" Gino looked over at Gwen as he slipped back into his boxers and pants.

Gwen motioned towards the discarded prophylactic. "You're just gonna leave your gizz on the floor?"

It was Gino's turn to raise his eyebrows. "I don't see any trash cans around. What do you want me to do? Put it in my pocket? Carry it around with me 'til I can throw it out? Ew, fuck no. The gizz stays on the floor."

"But… Gino, that's disgusting! What if someone finds it?"

Gino let out a single laugh. "Gwen, Dersites don't have dicks. They are cockless carapacians. They don't even know what condoms are - if someone finds it, they'll just think it's a random piece of trash that is sticky and smells kinda funny. Which can be said of any other piece of trash. And besides, just look at all the cobwebs in this room! No one comes up here."

"I did. Twice, if you recall." Gwen kept her face perfectly deadpan.

"Ah…" Gino blinked several times rapidly, a low giggle escaping from his throat. "Okay. Okay, that was a good one. If I'd a hat, right now, I'd doff it to you."

_**Temporary pleasure, Prince. Nothing more than a shadow of happiness.**_

Gino blinked again, shaking his head.

"You heard them again?" Gwen asked. She had noticed Gino's movement and accurately guessed its cause. "The Outer Gods?"

"Yeah." Gino did not bother hiding it, anymore. Gwen already knew. What would be the point in keeping it secret from her? "They sure know how to kill a moment… Did you…?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I don't seem to hear them like you do. I get traces of whispers, sometimes, just out of hearing. Almost like when you hear voices while you fall asleep. But never coherent sentences…"

"Well, lucky you…" Gino murmured. "They aren't very nice…"

"_Hey._" Gwen caught Gino by the arm and pulled him close, meeting him halfway with a kiss. "Don't let those voices get to you, okay?"

Gino returned the kiss. "I won't."

_**No need, Prince. When the time arrives, you will come to us all by yourself.**_

Fortunately for Gino, the radio chose that exact moment to begin squawking. At first, there were a few moments of static, but then the white noise quickly stabilized and resolved into one of the dissenters' pirated frequencies.

"_Come in Tower Watch, come in Tower Watch,_" the all-too-familiar voice of the Wrathful Veteran issued through the speaker. "_We have a problem._"

Gwen picked up the radio and responded. "Hey, WV, Witch here. What's up?"

"_Listen closely, Witch, for time is of the essence. Not two minutes ago, one of my radio ops intercepted a coded transmission from the Land of Fog and Shadow. As it turns out, the Black Queen has an Agent in place on the Thane's planet, and it would appear that an opportunity has now presented itself._"

"Opportunity?" Gwen shared a confused glance with Gino, her forehead scrunching up in puzzlement. "Wait, what…?"

The Wrathful Veteran kept right on speaking, not wasting a single speck of time. "_That coded transmission was a kill order, straight from the Archagent himself. Do you understand? You must contact the Thane and warn him. If you do not, he will die. Please hurry. Again, time is of the essence._"

The radio fell silent. Gwen and Gino looked at each other, still reeling from what they'd just heard. In unison, they both retrieved their phones from their sylladexes and checked PalHassle. Theo was offline, unfortunately. Gwen tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Not surprised…" Gwen muttered, returning the iphone to her sylladex. "We haven't used our phones in days… What can we do?"

_**We can help.**_

This time, both Gwen and Gino jerked upright. "Did you…?" Gino sent a questioning glance to Gwen.

"Yeah." Gwen nodded. "Um. Is that what they always sound like?"

_**Think, Prince. The Archagent awaits confirmation from his henchman. Confirmation of the Thane's death. You cannot stop it. You can, however, delay it.**_

"How?" Gino heard himself asking.

_**You are a Hero of Mind. You know how.**_

"Wait, you're _talking_ to them?" Gwen's eyebrows nearly met in a fierce frown. "Are you nuts?"

"Well, I...what choice do we have?" Gino shot back. "I have to help Theo if I can. I _have_ to. Now, think..._think_…"

It was a curious sensation when Gino's Mind powers came blazing to life. When he reflected back upon what had happened, Gino would liken the sensation to that of a sleeping limb when all the blood comes rushing back in. First there are pins and needles, then a profound sensitivity to movement.

Gino closed his eyes and focused. The image of himself standing in black space popped into his mind with an ease that startled Gino. He was surrounded by an aura of little streaks of light that zipped their way through the darkness, almost like trails of numbers crawling across a computer screen. As Gino's thoughts shifted, so too did the streaks of light.

When he focused on them, they grew more aligned, forming a cocoon-like haze that pulsed and swirled around him in harmony, rather than a chaotic rabble.

_**Focus, Prince. Follow us.**_

Gino nearly jumped in surprise. Just beyond the white cocoon of his thoughts, Gino could 'see' something...strange. It was vast, larger than Gino could even comprehend. The teenager felt like he was standing in front of a Sahara dust storm, staring straight into the blank mass of sand. A candle flame facing a gale-force wind. He soon realized that it was a nexus of thoughtforms - myriad streaks of moving light identical to Gino's, only this light was black.

Gino could not actually see the dark thoughtforms, but he could feel their movement. If he concentrated enough, Gino was sure he could paint a reasonable picture of what the sources of all those thoughtforms looked like...but he had a feeling that this would be unwise.

There was a strange sort of pull about the dark thoughtforms, like a sort of gravity - sometimes one or two of Gino's white thoughtforms would peel away and vanish into the abyss of dark thoughtforms. They never returned. Gino was careful not to probe the dark thoughtforms. If he did, Gino feared he might destabilize and lose himself.

The stormy mass of dark thoughtforms began to move away. Gino found that if he did not resist, the dark thoughtforms' gravity seemed to pull him along, as if he were tethered. As much as they unnerved him, Gino knew he had to follow.

"Where are we going?" Gino asked. He was not sure if he was really speaking the words or merely thinking them, but it did not really matter. The dark thoughtforms answered him.

_**We are bringing you to the solution, Prince.**_

As Gino travelled through the darkness, he reached out with his hand and touched his vacillating cocoon of thoughtforms. The little motes of light danced about his fingers, swirling up and around his arm. As they made 'physical' contact, Gino would catch seemingly random smells, snippets of conversations, convoluted bursts of emotion, disjointed images… His own thoughts and memories. He recognized each and every one, even if he was not able to properly sort through them in a way he could understand.

Within seconds, Gino became aware of another source of pulsing white light. It was shining off in the near distance, like a lighthouse in the fog. Gino found himself detaching from the gravity of the dark thoughtforms, willing himself to move towards the other source of white light. His suspicions were confirmed when he grew near - it was another system of thoughtforms, belonging to…

Another image flashed through Gino's mind. Another teenager, wearing golden pajamas. He had unruly black hair and red eyes. At the core of the other cocoon of thoughtforms was a spark of white light that was too bright to look at directly, but it was from this core that the image of the other boy came to Gino.

These were Adam's thoughts.

_**The Knight of Force is usually impervious to Mind Coercion. But he is vulnerable when he dreams.**_

That made Gino stop short. "Wait, what? Mind Coercion?"

_**The Knight possesses an intimate control over the frequency and wavelength of varying forms of electromagnetic energy. This is the Force Aspect. Through the Knight's dream self, you can use it to prevent confirmation of the Thane's death from reaching Derse.**_

"You're askin' me to hijack my friend's brain and make him use his powers against his will," Gino said, still unsure over whether or not he should continue. "This is some really fucked up shit. This is wrong."

_**The Thane is dying as we speak. The Knight is your solution. And he hardly considers you a friend. Make a Choice.**_

Gino felt sick to his stomach as he made his choice. Still, when faced with the stark reality that Theo would die if he did not act, Gino went ahead and reached out, making contact with Adam's thoughtforms.

_Flying. Adam was flying… All around were golden towers and spires, streets… A gentle warmth emanating from above… Prospit was so close to Skaia-_

Gino took a deep breath, stopping himself from wandering too far into Adam's thoughts. Boy, Adam sure had a lot of thoughts... Under his guidance, Gino's thoughtforms slowly began to stream into Adam's current. Gino found that he could not directly manipulate Adam's thoughtforms, but he could influence their movement. It was very subtle work. With all his willpower, Gino focused on infusing Adam's mind with a very simple command: _Up_.

It took a few moments, but it worked. Adam's thoughtforms continued to pulsate normally, as if nothing were happening. They did not detect the presence of Gino's essence. Gino kept one of his hands firmly embedded within the current of thoughtforms, keeping himself updated on Dream Adam's location and movement. The visions and sensations Gino received told him that Adam was flying up and away from Prospit's Moon, heading off into the void of space.

When Gino had moved Dream Adam far enough into space, it was time to start rolling out the Force Aspect...but Gino had no idea how to spark Adam's powers. This was only his first time trying to control someone else, after all. Fortunately (or unfortunately), the Voices were still looking out for him.

_**Guiding another's movement is simple coercion. To trigger the Knight's abilities, one must go deep.**_

Gino gulped nervously. "Is it...is it gonna hurt?"

_**Yes.**_

"Me or him?"

_**Yes.**_

Not wanting to put off the ugly task any longer, Gino took a deep breath and dove right in. Gathering his strength, Gino found himself forming a wedge-like pattern with his own thoughtforms, driving them straight into Adam's. The 'wedge' of white light disrupted the currents of Adam's thoughtforms, sending their patterns into disarray.

Gino was shocked when Adam's thoughtforms began shining an angry crimson red. Suddenly, they turned on him and started to fight back, throwing themselves against Gino's wedge, trying to smash their way through. And the Outer Gods had not been lying - it _hurt_. Those were Gino's own thoughts Adam's defenses were attacking.

Nausea was beginning to grip Gino. He could feel the Force Aspect simmering just out of reach, but it was very difficult for him to remain focused on finding it while he was getting bombarded by Adam's thoughtforms. He started getting tiny little glimpses into memories that did not belong to him as the hostile red thoughtforms made prolonged contact with his own.

Gino pushed the wedge in deeper. He gasped as white-hot pain flashed through his cranium like a bolt of lightning. He could hear screaming, too, though he was pretty sure it was coming from Adam's mind and not his own. Still, that final push did the trick.

The Force Aspect was electrifying, to say the least. As Gino made contact with it, allowed it to flow freely to the 'surface', he was almost in awe of the raw power that hummed within the other boy's mind. Adam had no idea just how powerful he really was - that much was plain to Gino.

More sensory information from Dream Adam began to flood Gino's mind. Gino felt a charge building up around himself, almost like static electricity. Ignoring the growing pain from Adam's hostile thoughtforms, Gino asserted more and more control over the Force Aspect, encouraging it to build up an even greater charge.

There was more screaming. Gino was not sure if Adam was really screaming, or if this was merely how he was translating the turmoil of the other boy's raging thoughtforms as they continued to fight to oust the invading presence of Gino's influence. It was hard to 'hear' what Dream Adam was feeling over all the 'noise'. Gino tried not to think about it, too much, focused on the task at hand.

After generating a substantial amount of harmless radiation through manipulation of Adam's Force powers, the Voices ordered Gino to release it. Gino had to pour even more strength into his efforts, sending more and more of his thoughtforms into the fray, crudely constructing a conduit through which the Force Aspect could freely flow. Mimicking the path of the conduit, the wave of radiation surged forward like a solar flare, heading in the direction of the Land of Fog and Shadow.

Gino did not know for sure if he was sending the Force radiation in the right direction, but more insight from the Voices put his fears at ease.

_**The radiation will blanket the Thane's planet. No radio transmissions will be able to make it through. You have done what you can. Now release the Knight before his mind kills you.**_

_**You are a true Destroyer of Choice. Well done.**_

_**We will speak again.**_

Adam's angry red thoughtforms were beginning to triumph. Entire chunks of Gino's 'wedge' were being torn away, causing the pain in his skull to increase with each new loss. Gino's strength was beginning to fail - he would not be able to sustain his hold much longer. It was too much, too much…

Gino's eyes flew back open. He was gasping for breath, as if he'd just come up from being underwater. He heard voices. They were speaking to him, but he could not yet make out what they were saying. Everything was in disarray…

Then, as Gino's breathing stabilized, calm returned. The teenaged boy realized he was lying on a stretcher. As he tried to sit up, a firm grip took him by the shoulder and laid him back down. "_Easy, Prince. We nearly lost you,_" said a voice. Gino instantly recognized it as the Wrathful Veteran's.

Gino's eyes refocused, finally allowing him to look around and get his bearings. It was like a bad dream - he was back in the Onyx's infirmary, where wounded dissenters were treated. His cheeks felt wet and crusty to the touch. When Gino brushed his fingers across his face, they came away bloody.

"...the fuck?" Gino mumbled, blinking several times, shaking his head slowly. He still felt very dizzy - if he'd sat up, he probably would have puked. "What…?"

"Easy, Prince," the Wrathful Veteran repeated himself. The Dersite revolutionary leader was sitting in a foldout chair next to Gino's cot. "Try to relax. Don't strain anything. When the Witch brought you back to us, you were having seizures. Foaming at the mouth, bleeding from your eyes, screaming about...what was it, again? Thoughtforms, or somesuch? You were quite the picture of a nightmare."

"Gwen...where's Gwen?"

"The Witch is back at her post," the Veteran replied. "You have been unconscious for nearly a day."

* * *

><p>Anna Carrero sipped lazily from her flask of Captain Morgan.<p>

She was watching, invisible, from mid-air as a short, squat Dersite Agent scampered into the dwelling where Theo was sleeping. A twitch of the mouth was the only outward sign of the disgust welling up within her. Disgust at what she had to do. Or, rather...what Anna had to _not_ do. She knew what was about to happen, but she could not prevent it. To do so would be catastrophic. It would send everyone careening away from the alpha timeline and into oblivion.

_No doomed timelines for me, thank you,_ Anna thought to herself, taking another sip. It was a thankless job, being a Seer of Time, keeping the alpha timeline intact. Literally. Not a single person had thanked her. She did not even remember how long she'd been jumping around through time - Time travel really messed with one's sense of chronology.

Anna willed herself to float closer to Theo's dwelling. She often found herself in situations where she needed to observe without being seen. Having reached the god tiers - which Anna did not want to think about, right now - she was able to fly. The light-bending ring she wore, crafted by a god-tier version of Gwen from a future doomed timeline, allowed her to remain unseen.

As a result, the Courtyard Droll did not know that Anna was watching him. He went about his business, humming quietly as he produced a small cloth bag from an inner pocket. Inside the bag was a dusty yellow substance. Upon closer inspection, Anna could see that it was pollen. The Courtyard Droll blew the pollen into Theo's face. Almost immediately, Theo started coughing. His eyes flew open and he felt around his pockets instinctively, searching for his inhalers. But then he remembered that his inhalers had long since gone dry.

If he wanted to live, he had to use Breath.

Unfortunately for Theo, the Courtyard Droll was anticipating this. Before Theo could focus on his Aspect, the Droll whacked him over the head with the butt of his umbrella, knocking Theo out cold. The teenaged boy's airways continued to constrict, however. Theo was unable to use his Breath while unconscious, resulting in a slow death by asphyxiation.

Anna waited patiently for Theo's body to go limp, fighting down the nausea in her stomach. When the Courtyard Droll slipped back outside and made his escape, Anna considered flying up behind him and kicking him off the edge of Whiterock Eyrie, sending him plummeting to a spectacular death thousands of feet below. As she started to move, however, her mind's eye provided her a new image:

_The Courtyard Droll, bloodied, winded. Standing on a wooden deck. A ship. Surrounded by turtle-consorts. They were angry._

Anna watched the Droll slip away. "Your day will come, little guy," she murmured. With that, she turned away from the fleeing Dersite Agent and floated into Theo's dwelling. She would have to act fast, before the ptero-consorts discovered Theo's body. If that happened, Anna would never be able to smuggle it away.

It took every ounce of Anna's strength to lift Theo's corpse from the bed. He was _heavy_. Grunting with exertion, Anna staggered over to the doorway and took off, flying away into the air, praying silently for none of the ptero-consorts to see her. It would be a strange sight, indeed, to spot the corpse of a Hero of legend flying through the air seemingly all by itself - Anna's light-bending ring did not appear to extend its coverage to Theo.

Anna flew as fast as she could, quickly putting a great distance between her and Whiterock Eyrie. Then she turned north. It took her ten minutes to reach her destination: a strange, small mountain made out of blue rock. This mountain had a flat top, with a blue stone slab in the center, emblazoned with the Breath symbol. Spires protruded from the four corners of the stone Breath slab, giving it the appearance of a crude four-poster bed, each spire capped with a sphere of black crystal.

Anna's muscles were screaming by the time she reached the quest bed. After laying Theo's body down on the blue stone slab, she collapsed. The orbs at the top of the spires came blazing to life with a searing blue light, and the quest bed began to hum and vibrate with an immensely powerful, unseen energy. Despite the grand spectacle, however, Anna remained motionless on her back, breathing deeply, letting her muscles rest.

It was not until the butterflies arrived that Anna sat back up, resting against the altar. There were thousands of them - butterflies of all sizes and colors, fluttering en masse towards the quest bed. They came in swarms from all directions, hundreds upon hundreds of them emerging from the veil of fog that obscured the skies, every single one of them honing in on the quest bed.

As the first butterflies reached the quest bed, they landed on Theo's body, waiting patiently for their fellows to arrive. Pretty soon, Theo's corpse would be completely covered.

Anna retrieved her flask of Captain Morgan from her sylladex, taking a long drink. Not for the first time, Anna wondered if it was bad that she no longer felt the burn of alcohol as it traveled down her throat. But then she shrugged and took another drink. Reviving dead friends came first. Worrying about her growing alcoholism came second.

"Jesus, Theo…" she murmured, watching dispassionately as more butterflies landed on his corpse, as more heat and light was given off by the quest bed. She massaged her sore, aching arms and shoulders. "When you wake back up, you need to lose some weight."


	72. VI Chapter 72: Pruning the Azaleas

Chapter Seventy-Two: Pruning the Azaleas

"Dead?" Theo Gibbons still sounded dubious even as he gradually remembered the details of how he died. "C'mon, we're not dead. You're full of shit."

"Nope, not this time," Adam Tarrant chuckled, hitting Little Blue's radio. There was a moment of static, which happened from time to time on his favorite radio station, before it resolved into the light, playful tones of Artie Shaw's clarinet. "How else could I get WRTI to play Artie Shaw's _Moonglow_ right when I need them to? And why else would my eyes look like this?" Adam gestured to his own eyes, which happened to be completely white.

No iris, no pupil.

That gave Theo a little start. "Ah. Okay, that's freaky."

"Look in the mirror, dude."

Theo reached up and pulled down the passenger sun visor, which had a mirror on its inside surface. As Theo looked into the mirror, he gave an even bigger start. His eyes, too, were completely white. Finding the sight a tad bit disturbing, Theo shut the sun visor and turned his attention back to the setting sun.

Theo's gut twisted from a brief spurt of panic and confusion. But then, curiously, it all returned to normal, as if the impact of the revelation had been nothing more than a sudden, unexpected gust of wind. "Well, _shit…_" he muttered. "I guess I…um… So...is this one of those dream bubbles we go to when we die?"

Adam blinked once, his eyebrows raising a fraction in surprise. "You already know about dream bubbles?" he asked.

"Yeah, Gino's told me about them," Theo replied. He looked around, his eyes wide, as if he was now observing everything for the very first time. Which, in a way, he was. "Geez, it's all so...so…"

"Real?" Adam finished for Theo.

"Yeah, that about sums it up. Real."

"Well, dream bubbles are initially formed from memories, so technically all this _is_ real," Adam agreed. "We're both sharing one, at the moment, actually. And once you remember you're dead, everything changes. Like right now. It's like having a lucid dream that doesn't end. It can even be fun, if you're not too...you know...broken up over being dead, and everything. You don't sound very broken up."

"Oh, I mean…" Theo shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, it's a bit of a surprise, and all, but… I dunno. I guess I expected it to hurt? Or...something. I dunno. I actually feel perfectly fine, right now. I guess I wasn't expecting that."

"Everyone reacts differently to death."

"How did you react?"

Adam hesitated before answering. "...differently. This isn't my first time being dead, you know."

"Is it your second?"

Adam shook his head. "My third, actually. I might not be coming back from this one… But that's okay. I've got a date, soon. C'mon, let's do that thing we always see in movies where people watch a sunset from the hood of their car. I've always wanted to do that."

Seeing no reason to argue or disagree, Theo unbuckled his seat belt and opened the passenger door, hopping out of Little Blue. Both teenagers swung themselves up onto the Ford Focus's hood at the same time, stretching out their legs and resting back against the windshield.

Little Blue was currently parked off the side of the small dirt road that ran almost all the way up to the top of Drovers Mount, which was the small mountain located near Cruz's home, adjacent to the Frog Temple ruins. The view was beautiful - a sea of treetops, varying shades of green, brown, and white stretching all the way out to the horizon, as if it were struggling to touch the sky.

It was nearly sunset. There were just enough clouds in the sky to give the sunset a good array of color. Small flocks of birds were moving through the light, painting fluid, formless patterns as they constantly shifted formation. The crescent moon had even made an appearance, higher up in the greenish-blue regions of the western sky, above the warmer tones closer to the horizon.

The car's windows had all been rolled down, so the radio could still be heard. Smooth jazz continued to play, giving the sunset a tranquil feel that dovetailed nicely with the warm temperature and comfortable humidity. Crickets were beginning to chirp. Fireflies filled the bushes and treetops with dazzling flickers of bioluminescence.

It was perfect.

It was like being in a dream.

"I love sunsets," Adam said to Theo, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath through his nose. His left hand was moving in gentle swirls in rhythm with the music, as if he were conducting Artie Shaw and his orchestra. "You know, some of my best experiences in our Sburb session happened during a sunset. Or 'Skaiaset', if you want to be technical. And the only thing better than the sunset...is listening to jazz _during_ one."

"Oh, I believe you! This is nice..." Theo's laughter slowly returned as he drank in the sight of the sun finally beginning to sink beneath the distant treetops. "Jesus…" he murmured, taking another long, deep breath, savoring the feeling of being able to breathe freely without fear of asthma. "This is probably the best I've felt in a real long time. I could get used to this."

That sparked a look from Adam, who arched a curious eyebrow. "Could you?" he asked.

"Find me an Xbox, and yes I could," Theo replied. "You seem used to it."

That got another quiet chuckle from Adam. "Yeah, Theo, I guess I am. And it's good you feel the way you do. Still, you shouldn't get comfortable just yet. You aren't finished."

"_Right,_" Theo said, almost smacking himself in the forehead in irritation for forgetting the obvious. "My dream self's still alive in jail… Aw, shit, do I really have to go back there?"

"Don't worry," Adam reassured his friend. "You're not going back to Derse. You had friends looking out for you. You're gonna wake up on the Battlefield."

"The what now?"

"The Battlefield," Adam repeated himself. "It's the planet at the center of Skaia, where the carapacian armies are fighting. You're reaching the god tiers via your planetary quest bed, so your dream self will be transported to...eh...you know what? Never mind. You'll figure it all out for yourself when you wake back up. For now, just enjoy the sunset."

Theo was content to follow his friend's advice. And he did, for a while, enjoy the jazz-infused sunset, right up until the sun sank away from view. The sky slowly turned a deep red, and stars were soon visible in the east.

After the sun went down, the butterflies arrived. They emerged by the thousands from the tree tops below Drovers Mount, all of them fluttering straight towards Little Blue. Theo gave a start of surprise when the butterfly swarms appeared, sitting up off the windshield. "That...is a reasonably large quantity of butterflies," he remarked, his tone very neutral. "I, uh… I take it they're not random?"

"No, they're not random." Adam shook his head. "They're your ride back home. Butterflies, huh? I had cardinals. It was good talking to you, Theo. Maybe I'll see you again when I get to the Garden. I'm not sure when that will be, though."

"Well, if I'm about to wake up, then I need to give you one of these-" Theo reached over and threw his arms around his friend, squeezing him hard enough to make Adam fear for the well-being of his ribcage. Then Theo released him. "See you, White Lightning."

"Bye, Black Thunder." Adam stood up and hopped off the hood of Little Blue. The first few butterflies had already reached them. "Those butterflies are about to swarm all over you, so I"m just gonna go ahead and stand over here…"

As the masses of butterflies converged on Theo, the last he saw of his best friend before the winged insects obscured his vision was Adam scrambling back from the swarms, swatting away butterflies that got too close.

It was enough to make Theo laugh again.

* * *

><p>"<em>Well, I'll be a son of a bitch<em>..." Traces of awe managed to sneak into the Scarred Marshal's voice despite his efforts to keep a neutral tone. He was staring through a pair of binoculars at the commotion happening at the top of the distant mountain. His small, carved wooden pipe hung lazily from the corner of his mouth, tendrils of tobacco smoke curling up into the air before they were whisked away by the breeze. "Goddamn Rangers weren't full of shit, after all…"

The Pale Marksman, who was standing behind and to the left of the Scarred Marshal, reacted to the division commander's quip by clearing her throat loudly. "You're aware those 'Goddamn Rangers' are within earshot, sir?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm aware," the Marshal murmured, not missing a beat.

The Marksman could only shrug. "Long as we're on the same page."

The Scarred Marshal watched the shimmering figure in the sky start to move around on its own accord, gusts of wind beginning to shoot out in seemingly random directions from the mountaintop. "This is the windy kid, then. Which one is that, PM? The Knight? Which one is the Breath hero?"

"That would be the Thane, sir," the Pale Marksman replied.

"Thane of Breath, that's right." The Scarred Marshal gave a single nod, lowering his binoculars and passing them over to the Marksman, who began looking through them herself. "Okay, PM, send in your boys. Let's get the Thane back to the White Keep before the Dersites decide to try and snipe him."

* * *

><p>"I came to say goodbye, for a while, Cruz," Dream Adam said to his oldest friend after taking a deep breath. "I'm leaving Prospit."<p>

Cruz gave a grunt of surprise. He turned off his Xbox controller, wound up the cord. "Where to? The Battlefield?"

Dream Adam nodded. "Yeah, that's the plan."

Cruz nodded slowly, his eyes growing vacant, deep in thought. He absentmindedly pinched the joint that he'd tucked behind his ear earlier and removed it, bringing it down to his lips. As he fumbled around for a lighter and could not find one, his focus quickly returned. Cruz met Dream Adam's gaze. "Do you mind?" he asked his friend, gesturing to the end of his joint.

Dream Adam snapped his fingers, conjuring a small mote of flame around his right hand. He twirled the fire through his fingers for a few seconds before extending his index finger and directing the flame into the tip of Cruz's joint, igniting the marijuana.

Cruz took a deep hit, inhaling until he nearly reached what felt like a bursting point. Then he released everything in a cloudy stream of skunky-smelling smoke. "_Thanks,_" he croaked to Adam, his throat still raw and dry from the massive hit. He coughed several times, reached down to retrieve his glass of water, took several gulps to regain his voice.

"No problem," Dream Adam chuckled.

Cruz waited for his coughing to subside before speaking again. "It ain't all fun and games in Skaia. Not like here, _amigo_. There's a war raging on the Battlefield, right now. You sure you wanna get caught up in all that?"

Dream Adam was silent, at first, but after his initial hesitation he gave a nod. "Yeah," he said, "I'm sure. I need to be somewhere I can make a difference. Look, dude, I… I've survived two murder attempts - one of which happened in my own goddamn dream room. Then Gino decides to turn me into his meat puppet, makes me fly into space… I'm done sitting around and doing nothing, Cruz."

Cruz took another hit from his joint. A smaller hit, this time. "There anything I can do or say to change your mind?"

"No." Dream Adam smiled, shaking his head. "I've made up my mind. And to be honest, the more I think about this, the more it feels..._right_. I don't think we're meant to stay on Prospit, dude. One way or another, we're all heading for Skaia."

After Adam's dream self bid Cruz farewell and flew off to return to his own tower, the Sage of Space was left on his own. He watched Dream Adam's distant form grow smaller and smaller, until he could no longer see his friend. He blinked several times when he lost sight of Dream Adam. His friend's words were still echoing in his mind.

Cruz switched his Xbox controller back on and sat down in front of the TV, starting a new Left 4 Dead campaign. After a few moments' deliberation, he chose Blood Harvest and settled down to play. As he shoved and shot his way through the rural maps, Cruz finished his joint. He tried to zone out and lose himself amidst the waves of in-game Infected, but he was unable to relax.

To be honest, Cruz had been feeling a similar way for a little while. Ever since getting stabbed through the throat, Cruz had been very content to spend his abundance of time on Prospit smoking himself into a stupor, trying to forget the more painful parts of the experience. But no amount of weed seemed to be able to cover it up, and Cruz found himself spending most of his time ignoring his own thoughts.

It was much harder for Cruz to ignore the parting words of a friend.

His mind made up, Cruz vaulted himself over the sill of the nearest window and soared up and away from his dream tower, leaving the Golden Moon far behind. He was heading straight for Prospit, flying low and close to the giant golden chain that tethered the city-planet to its moon.

At first, following his death at the hands of Jack Noir, Cruz's dream self had seemingly lost its natural ability to fly. Fortunately, it turned out that the dream self's flight capability was not fully lost - Cruz merely had to remember how to do it, much like a paraplegic learning to walk again. His flight was still a little rough and uncoordinated, but Cruz was still able to get from Point A to Point B without causing too many problems.

Upon reaching Prospit, Cruz chose to land at the base of the golden chain. The base of the chain was located in a large, bustling plaza. Vendors at their kiosks would hold up their wares, continually attempting to get passersby to peruse. Trolleys glided across the cobblestones on their tracks, moving in a tightly-coordinated pattern that prevented any collisions.

What Cruz loved most about the more crowded parts of Prospit were the voices. Prospitians loved to _talk_. Hundreds and hundreds of voices would mingle together, forming a pleasant, upbeat din that helped Cruz lighten up and smile. As Cruz made his way through the plaza, the busy Prospitians gradually started to take notice. They would draw back from Cruz, their eyes wide as dinner platters, whispering and chattering to one another.

Cruz did not like this part of being a Hero. He did not enjoy the awe and reverence he was afforded from the Prospitians - Cruz did not feel like he had done anything to deserve it. Still…determined to enjoy the rest of his trip, Cruz left the plaza behind and hopped onto a trolley that was heading down the Boulevard. He preferred riding the trolley to the Golden Keep, rather than flying the entire way.

"I don't need exact change, do I?" Cruz asked the driver, jokingly, when he stepped into the trolley.

The trolley driver blinked once, her jaw hanging slightly open. Then she blinked again and found her voice. "Er...exact change?" She clearly had no clue what Cruz was talking about.

"Never mind." Cruz brushed past the driver and took a seat next to a well-dressed Prospitian woman.

As the trolley got moving once again, moving along down the Boulevard on its rails, Cruz watched the storefronts and cafes and streetside trees glide on past. The Prospitian sitting next to him started to fidget uncomfortably. Cruz could not help but giggle a little as he saw this.

He leaned over to the woman and flashed her a grin. "_Chica,_ you smell like a spring garden."

"I… Sage…" Color rushed to the Prospitian woman's cheeks, which surprised Cruz a little bit. He had not known carapacians were capable of blushing. The Prospitian woman tried to say more, but the words were stopping up in her throat. When she started to hyperventilate, Cruz took the hint and quietly slipped into another seat.

Cruz had been living among the Prospitians for a little while, now, and the Golden Moon was gradually getting used to his frequent presence. Here on Prospit, however, the people were not nearly as familiar with him. They were still quite shy. That was okay, though. Shyness could always be worked around, so long as you kept trying.

Cruz took a deep breath and tried to relax. He was still unable to ignore his doubts left over from Dream Adam's departure. But the trolley ride down the Boulevard, for its part, was almost therapeutic. Watching a city drift past an open window was one of Cruz's favorite ways to relax. Sometimes, when he was feeling stressed, he liked to ride the trolleys around the Golden Moon.

Sometimes Tami would join him. Those were the best days, when she joined him.

When the trolley reached the other end of the Boulevard, after about half an hour's ride, Cruz hopped off. Looming in front of him were the walls that surrounded the Golden Keep. Prospitian Royal Guards were patrolling the ramparts, as well as stationed in front of the gates. When Cruz flew up and over the walls, it gave the Royal Guardsmen pause. But upon recognizing Cruz, they relaxed.

Cruz did not bother to walk in through the main entrance. He knew where the White Queen would be. Instead, he flew straight up to the top of the uppermost tower of the Golden Keep. It was the Queen's arboretum, where she grew her own personal garden. Cruz did not visit Prospit often, but when he did, he always made sure he spent some time in the arboretum.

Birdsong was the first sound that greeted Cruz upon his entrance. There were cardinals fluttering about the treetops, and several of them came over to investigate Cruz. He had visited before, however, so they recognized him and quickly lost interest.

The White Queen was on her knees, pruning a large azalea bush that appeared to be creeping its way across one of the stone pathways. "Good day to you, Sage," she said, sensing Cruz's arrival without even turning around. "You will forgive me if I tend to this bush a few minutes more. I'm afraid I have let it grow rather rampant, over the years…"

"Want help?" Cruz asked the Queen as he touched down to the ground behind her.

The Queen cast a questioning glance over her shoulder. "You're familiar with horticulture?"

"Yeah." Cruz nodded. "My Gran always made me help her keep our bushes and gardens pretty. Pruning is easy. Got an extra pair of shears?"

"Yes, in a closet next to the entrance."

"Be right back." Cruz headed over in the direction the Queen had indicated, finding the closet and opening it. There was an abundance of gardening tools hanging from the wall within the closet. Cruz selected a small pair of shears.

Upon returning to the azalea bush, Cruz knelt down next to the White Queen. He selected a sprig of dead flowers, pinched it, and gently snipped it at its base. He then paused, staring at the shears in his hand. "Reminds me of home," he admitted.

"Treasure the memory," the White Queen said to him, snipping another dying sprig. "Unless it brings you pain. In that case, let it be."

"Nope, no pain here," Cruz murmured. He resumed sifting through the bush, looking for appropriate branches to remove. "Feels numb, to be honest. How does a person process being part of an extinct species?"

"Hardly extinct, Sage. Here you kneel."

Cruz gave a quiet laugh. "There's only eight of us left. The mathematics don't exactly lean in favor of repopulation."

"A valid point," the Queen observed. "I presume, Sage, from your mood, that you have learned of the Knight's departure?"

Cruz looked up at the Queen. "You knew about that?" he asked.

"I did," the White Queen replied. "As I'm sure you are aware, when the Knight makes up his mind, there is rarely any changing it. The real question is what _you_ want. Much as I love having you visit, Sage, I know that you did not come here to help me prune my azaleas."

Cruz took a deep breath. Then he said, "Adam made a good point to me. He was tired of sitting around doing nothing. And so am I. I guess maybe I'm a little afraid? I've already died once - I don't want to die again. But is it worth hiding away for the rest of the session, while all my friends are putting their lives on the line?"

"You ask good questions," the Queen remarked. "I'm afraid I cannot assist you in answering them. I can, however, give you a task to complete, should you wish. Come along, my guests should be waiting in the throne room, by now."

Cruz's forehead wrinkled in a puzzled frown. But he did not ask anymore questions, yet. He knew the White Queen liked being coy with information, never revealing anything until it was the right time. He stood up and followed her down the stone pathway back to the entrance of the arboretum. Before Cruz and the White Queen left the arboretum, they put their gardening shears back into the closet. Then they stepped onto the transportalizer pad outside, which proceeded to zap them downstairs.

Within the blink of an eye, Cruz found himself stepping off the transportalizer pad into a different room. Two elegant thrones rested against the back wall. Cruz was not looking at the thrones, however. His gaze was fixed upon the two women who were waiting by the entrance doors. One of them appeared to be in her late twenties. She had black hair and red eyes. Cruz recognized her as Adam's sister.

The other woman was elderly, her hair silver-gray, her skin tan and wrinkled. She wore glasses that were so thick, they made her amber-colored eyes almost comically huge. Despite her clearly advanced age, however, the old woman's smile radiated youthful energy.

"...Gran?" Cruz could hardly keep the shock out of his voice. "I… I thought you were dead! You vanished!"

Chela Arevalo's smile grew even wider. "Not dead, _mijo._ Now, come and give your old grandmother a hug."


	73. VI Chapter 73: Gaining Momentum

Chapter Seventy-Three: Gaining Momentum

Being around other sprites makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

I mean, I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that I'm a sprite, now. It happened, I'm dealing with it. It was a something of a surprise, at first, you could say, but I've adapted. Cass has been helping me out with that, a lot. So it's not like being with other sprites is causing me to have PTSD prototyping flashbacks, or anything like that.

It's just a little unsettling.

Suddenly, I am no longer the only freak in the room.

Five other sprites have arrived to investigate why I called them. There is a green mouse, a blue Bioshock big daddy, an orange Santa Claus, and what appears to be a prototyped large cheese pizza. And I recognize the fifth sprite as Mr. Twymann - Gwen's grandpa. Between the six of us, we have a whole lot of crazy gathered in one place, almost lending a strange sort of humming energy to the air.

"Really, you shouldn't have called all of them…" Cass is saying to me as I lead her into the downstairs parlor of our temporary home in Tyrene. "What could they possibly do to help me?"

"Don't underestimate a sprite," I reply. "And _definitely_ don't underestimate six of us."

The other sprites turn to greet me, though the greeting itself is a little tactless in my opinion.

"So, you're the one who went psycho?" the pizza sprite asks me, his golden aura pulsing in tune with his words.

Lucky for him, I've stabilized somewhat since my forced revival. "The talking pizza is going to lecture me on psychosis?" I retort. "You don't even have any pepperoni."

"_Ho ho ho!_" Santasprite exclaimed, his booming jolly voice filling every crack and crevice within the room.

I wonder if the festive orange spirit guide is capable of saying anything else, and I am already beginning to doubt it. Before Pizzasprite can get flustered, I decide to steer the conversation towards the reason I'd called everyone here in the first place.

"Okay, thank you all for coming," I say, trying to ignore the strange feeling of having so much 'weird' gathered in one place. "I'll do everyone a favor and just get right to the point. We need to intervene."

There is a silence in the room for a second or two. It occurs to me that perhaps I've worded myself a little too ambiguously. Before I can clarify myself, however, Deltasprite chimes in.

"Intervene?" the prototyped Bioshock character asks, his forehead furrowing in a slight frown. Thankfully, he refrains from revving his drill arm, which would have been loud and disruptive. "Intervene how, if I may ask? And where?"

Cass slides over to the table and takes a seat at one of the chairs. I watch her move, but keep my attention focused on the other sprites.

"Something needs to be done about the Black Queen," I declare. But then I give a frown of my own, sensing even more ambiguity in my wording. I choose to clear the air of any possible misinterpretations. "And by that, I mean we need to kill her. Preferably sooner rather than later. Who's in?"

Maybe Pizzasprite was right. Maybe I _had_ gone completely psycho. It certainly sounds like it, from what I now hear from the other sprites. There is a lot of, "_You're insane. Completely psycho,_" from Pizzasprite, coupled with some, "_I believe that goes against the Rules,_" from Deltasprite, along with a healthy helping of, "_Ho ho ho!_" from dear, wise, eloquent Santasprite.

The mouse sprite and Gwen's grandpa aren't talking, however. I decide that I like them the best.

All the while, Cass continues to watch me from the corner of the room. She keeps quiet, her expression perfectly neutral. I do my best to keep myself from getting distracted, which can be difficult when she is nearby. More so when she's freaking _watching_ me. Shit. Keep it together.

"Yeah, okay." I hold up my hands, quieting everyone down. I am glad the other sprites cooperate, otherwise it likely would have required a fireball to shut everyone up. And that might've burned down the house. "I get it. Sprites aren't supposed to interfere with the Heroes' Quests. We're just supposed to offer vague advice, act super cagey with valuable information, and float around. According to the Rules. Right, Deltasprite?" I cast an accusing glance over to Theo's sprite.

"Well…" Deltasprite blinks a couple times, scratching the stubble on his chin. "Well, it sounds a little negative when you word it like that, but the Rules are very clear about interference-"

"Fuck the Rules," I say, startling Deltasprite back into silence. "No one else is following them, so why should we?"

Another silence. Then the little mouse sprite speaks up for the first time, prompting even Pizzasprite to turn and look at him. "Can...can we do that? Ignore the Rules? Wouldn't bad things happen?"

"Bad things are already happening, little guy," I reply. "The reason I called you all here is because Derse has already converted the Rules to low-grade asswipe, shitting all over them as they please. They've openly attacked the Derse dreamers. They've imprisoned and tortured Cass, over there." The sprites all glanced over to Cass, who offered them a little wave, red rushing into her cheeks. She did not like being in the spotlight. "The Black Queen has tried to assassinate us several times, already. In Cruz, Gino, and Theo's case, she succeeded!"

"He is right," the mouse sprite agrees. "The Gino-human got stabbed in the head. There was a lot of blood. We had to put him under the sand before he started smelling bad. Tami almost died, too. I don't want that to happen again."

"No one's denying that Derse is going a little stir-crazy, alright?" Pizzasprite says. "One of their Agents went ahead and ganked Caiazzo Senior. I had to clean up the mess. But-"

"Wait, wait...Gino's dad is dead?" My eyes widen a fraction as I consider the consequences. "Does Gino know? What about the others? Have you seen my Sis-"

"_Like I said,_" Pizzasprite interrupts, his aura flaring a bright yellow, "No one's denying that Derse is going a little stir-crazy. But, see, thing is, I'm _understating_ it because, for some reason, I think understatement has a better ring to it. The reality is that Derse has gone _completely, absolutely, irrevocably_ stir-crazy. And you want to fly right into the eye of that hurricane? You're completely, absolutely, irrevocably nuts. I want to talk to your eagle half."

My mouth gives a little twitch. I am getting tired of listening to this guy.

"Well, here's an understatement of my own: I'm not sure you and the Eagle would get along," I tell him. "The Eagle is always hungry, and you look positively delectable."

Mr. Twymann held up his hand and, speaking for the first time, interrupted before Pizzasprite could reply in kind. "Not to interrupt," the indigo sprite began, fully aware that he was interrupting, which earned a scoff from Pizzasprite, "but I believe our aquiline friend here is right. Derse has gone too far. They've killed enough children to warrant our intervention. Something must be done."

"That still doesn't change the fact that it's _Derse,_" Pizzasprite argues. "Which includes a huge Navy. Lots and lots of battle-hardened commandos. Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention, the Queen Sociopath who happens to have a ring in her possession which gives her enough power to _destroy entire fucking planets!_ Look, I know sprites pack one hell of a punch, 'specially when we're gathered in numbers, but _no fucking way_ are we going up against that sort of firepower and coming out the other end breathing."

My irritation gradually dissipates. Those are well-phrased, valid grievances, and I initially find myself at a loss for words. I take a deep breath, allow myself to settle down, my head to clear.

"Okay." I took another breath. "I'm not suggesting we fly to Derse right this instant and crash the Black Queen's throne room. No. You're right. That would be a disaster. But there's already resistance in place - dissenters, operating from the Obsidian Moon, have been opposing the Black Queen for millennia. Essentially, what we have happening on Derse right now is a civil war that's only just getting started. That gives us options, in terms of luring the Black Queen out into the open."

I can hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth. Tactics? Strategy? Organized planning? I didn't know I had it in me. What else am I capable of?

"What did you have in mind?" Cass surprised me by breaking her silence. Her face was still stoic, her eyes neutral, observing.

"Like I said, it's a civil war. But it's underground. So why don't we bring it into the daylight?" I suggested. "Why don't we convince the Obsidian Moon to secede?"

* * *

><p>Tami Abramov's eyes were closed while she played the omnicrystal violin. She was plucking the strings, weaving a light, airy tune. Although it was played in a faster rhythm, it did not convey a sense of happiness.<p>

"There is sadness in your notes, Muse," Jurgen von Kessler observed. The salamander-consort was sitting cross-legged on a rock in the middle of the dry riverbed, tuning the strings on Tami's old violin. "Even when you play lively music, there is sadness."

Tami could only shrug. "What can I say? I'm sad most of the time, these days. Can't help it if my music reflects that."

"Oh, but you _can_ help it!" Jurgen grinned, raising the violin to his chin, lowering the bow to the strings and etching out a quick scale. "Emotions are always changing, always moving. Flowing, if you will, like water through a sieve. Or, at least, they should be. When you don't allow emotions to move, they will fester. They will grow negative and impose themselves on the circumstances of today. Which includes your music. When the sieve is blocked, new water cannot wash away the old, stagnant water. And so, you are left with nothing healthy to drink. Come, I want you to try something with me."

"What?" Tami sounded wary as she put her omnicrystal violin down.

"Take a deep breath, like so." Jurgen inhaled deeply through his nostrils, releasing it through the mouth. He took care not to produce a saliva bubble in the process. When Tami performed the breath herself, Jurgen broke out into a wide smile and began to laugh.

The laughter of a Salamander was rather high-pitched and gurgly. Strange. Somewhat amusing.

Tami blinked several times rapidly. "What are you doing?" she asked, her forehead creasing in a frown. This was unexpected. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing is funny," Jurgen explained in between chuckles. "I am merely faking laughter. Try it."

"Why?"

"Because eventually it turns into real laughter. Try."

Tami was not quite convinced. Still, she could not help but smile as her amphibious companion's laughter intensified. And so, throwing embarrassment to the winds, Tami opened her mouth and compressed her abdomen, allowing laughter of her own to come through.

It sounded forced. Awkward and mechanical. Running through the motions, minus the spirit. She was tempted to stop, but Jurgen continued to laugh, so Tami kept on going. Gradually, her face started to scrunch and her eyes began to tear. Her abdomen ached a wonderful ache.

When Tami released the tension and stopped faking the laughter, she found, much to her surprise, that the laughter had not _stopped_. Possessing a life all its own, the laughter continued until the tears streamed. The wonderful ache originating in the abdomen spread to the chest, neck, and arms.

When allowed to rest, her muscles would continue to hum, still carrying the laughter in their memory.

"Enjoy that?" asked von Kessler. The musician took a deep breath after speaking, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Yeah." Tami gave a single nod, not inclined to give a wordy answer. She could not honestly remember the last time she had laughed. Not as a nervous tick, nor out of despair. _Real_ laughter. It had been a long time.

Jurgen von Kessler picked up his violin and performed a quick arpeggio. "Play with me, then. While your muscles still hum. Lightly, now, like a gentle breeze..."

Together, Tami and her consort played the violin. The old violin Jurgen used, which had once belonged to Tami's brother Tash, struck a fine resonance with the purer, clearer, sharper tones that were offered up by the omnicrystal instrument.

Tami mimicked the melody Jurgen was weaving, taking some time to assimilate the consort's tempo, rhythm, and key signature. After internalizing that information, Tami left the rest up to her arm and fingers, closing her eyes and allowing her side of the music to complement Jurgen's, producing a rousing harmony, filling gaps that had never been gaps.

It was often difficult for Tami, as a musician, to really have a concrete idea of what her music sounds like as a whole when she is completely in the moment and improvising, as she was doing now. It is not a linear feeling, moving from one note to the next. The notes no longer feel like notes - they become akin more to the idea of emotions, than anything else. Tami would feel something, and the emotion or mix of emotions would be translated into music. This would be accomplished through her intimate understanding of the musical geometry of knowing which chords produced which emotions.

This is a very simplified way of describing a very complex process, but it is accurate.

"Feel the difference?" Jurgen inquired. "When emotions move freely, the music itself is then freed."

"You're just choc-full of fortune cookie messages, today, aren't you?" Tami remarked, her eyes remaining closed while she played.

Jurgen's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, what is a fortune cookie?"

"It's this little cookie-thingamabob you get at Chinese restaurants," Tami explained, keeping her focus concentrated on her violin.

The Salamander musician's eyes narrowed even more. "What is a Chinese restaurant?"

"Shit, that's right, you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. Jesus, I really can't make pop culture references, anymore..."

"What is a pop-"

"_Never mind!_" Tami snapped, her eyebrows twitching in a brief frown as her bow slipped, producing a discord.

Jurgen gave a quiet chuckle, lowering his violin. "A stranger in a strange land, you are," he said. "A feeling I know very well... Come, let us break for lunch. How much food have we left?"

Tami ran a quick mental check through her sylladex.

"We're still in good shape," she replied. "I went on a lunchable hoarding binge a few years ago. Great thing about these sylladexes is that nothing in them ever ages. You can store food from the Roman era in a sylladex, and it'll still be good and fresh when you take it back out. And don't you dare ask me what Romans are."

Jurgen pantomimed locking his mouth and tossing away the key, accentuating the key-toss with a glubtastic spit bubble. He accepted a pizza lunchable from Tami, tore off the plastic top, started to eat.

Tami let out a quiet moan of relief when she bit into her first makeshift mini-pizza. Her hunger pangs had been growing for the past hour, or so, but she had not noticed until she stopped playing. "If we ever stumble across a fire," she mumbled through her full mouth, "you gotta try heating these things. They're awesome with melted cheese."

"Had you only arrived here ten thousand years sooner, you might have had the opportunity to taste the cuisine of my people," von Kessler hummed, enjoying another bite of his mini-pizza. "Before the Cataclysm befell us, I was the conductor of the Albrecht Philharmonic Orchestra - 'Albrecht' was the name of my home province, you understand. And after every performance, my dear Inge, she would prepare my favorite dish. Steamed grollusch, with lavender sauce."

Tami's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Grollusch?"

"Yes, one of our more exotic species of shellfish," Jurgen explained. "Difficult to come by in Albrecht, but Inge would always manage…" The Salamander's voice trailed off and his eyes grew vacant for a few moments.

"Don't worry, you'll see your wife again," Tami assured her consort. "And, while we're sort of on the subject of bringing your people back into existence...you ever gonna explain to me how exactly we're going to make that happen?"

"You must learn to play the Songs of other people, first," Jurgen replied. "When you do, we will travel to the core of the planet with Hemera, and we will call my people back through Resonance, utilizing the energetic acoustics of the omnicrystal."

"Must've sucked," Tami grunted, her voice muffled slightly by the food in her mouth. "Having to be the one to play that Symphony? Having to say goodbye to everyone?"

"I was chosen by Hemera herself to play the Symphony," Jurgen shared with Tami, finishing his mini-pizza with a smack of the lips. "The greatest musicians from all provinces gathered at the Denizen's palace, and we played our Songs to her. My music, and mine alone, drew tears from the Denizen's soul. And so the honor of playing the Symphony was bestowed on me. I was humbled to do it."

"Cut the shit, von Kessler. It sucked. Don't tell me it didn't suck."

Jurgen started squirting the tomato sauce onto his second mini-pizza. His eyes were distant and unfocused as he revisited old memories. "It was very stressful," he admitted, sprinkling the cheese onto the tomato sauce. "There was fire raining from the sky the night I performed. I had to play the Symphony all by myself, using the omnicrystal to direct and amplify the sound when needed, created the necessary Resonance… And when the Outer Gods reduced my home to the barren desert you see now, my people were safely removed to realms of consciousness intangible."

Tami was silent for a few moments, digesting what Jurgen's words alongside her first lunchable pizza. "Sounds simple enough," she finally grunted, not bothering to mask the sarcasm.

"That's because it _is_ simple," Jurgen replied. "Learning how to do it, however, is _less_ simple. Playing the Song of a soul is not about finding a perfect composition, you understand, but rather about allowing the inspiration you draw from that soul to guide your choices, completely surrendering to it. If you play the truth, then the Song will be true, no matter what it sounds like. So, then, how to train the muscles of your body not to impose themselves? What might you recommend, Muse?"

Tami brushed the crumbs from her fingers, picked up her violin once more. "Practice?" she queries.

Jurgen gives a single nod, picking up his own violin. "Practice. Starting with more arpeggios."

* * *

><p>I lie on my back in the fine white sand, my head resting in Cass's lap.<p>

We're sitting on the beach just outside of Tyrene. Waves crash into foam and spray against the wet sand, and a gentle land breeze puffs from behind us. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but this does not trouble us - thunder is commonplace on this planet. Weak sunlight pokes through holes in the veil of clouds. The beach smells of salt.

Cass runs her fingers through my hair, tracing gentle curves across my scalp. It makes me quiver, gives me goosebumps.

"You've changed a lot, you know," she tells me, letting her index finger stop and rest on the middle of my forehead. "I've never seen you take charge of a room, before."

"Take charge?" I open my eyes, making a face at Cass. "I just sort of winged a plan and explained it to them. I wasn't exactly leading an army."

"When you speak, the room goes quiet and listens."

"I guess…"

Cass trails her finger down to the tip of my nose. "So, you're going to kill the Black Queen?"

"That's the plan, yeah."

"Not trying to be romantic, are you?" Cass asks me, her eyes glinting with amusement.

I smile at her. "The plan is to bust down the door of your cell with a big, badass fireball. I'll be holding the Queen's head, and I'll say something moderately witty. Then we fly off into the sunset."

"While still holding the Queen's head?"

"Well...no, I suppose I'd set it down somewhere beforehand. That would get awkward to carry..."

"You're not going to be holding the Queen's head, Adam. All that blood? You'll throw up. And have you forgotten that there is no sunset on Derse?"

"Oh, c'mon, just let me have this one."

Cass's finger moves from my nose down to my mouth. She leans in close and kisses my forehead. I feel more goosebumps. The fingertip falls from my mouth, trails down my neck. She begins to feel my chest feathers. A strange sensation, as the feathers are ruffled. Strange, though not unpleasant. I allow it to continue.

My gaze is fixated on Cass's face. "You have pretty eyes, you know," I tell her. "I never knew they were violet."

Cass's cheeks turn a pale shade of pink. "I wore contacts every day. Violet eyes aren't exactly normal."

"Better than having red eyes," I point out. "Red eyes like mine? Makes a person look positively demonic. Though I will say this much - having red eyes is _so_ useful for Halloween."

Cass laughs at this. With her free hand, she interlaces fingers with me. As she leans in for another kiss - a real one, this time - I fidget for a moment, an unpleasant thought coming to mind.

"What are you gonna tell Adam?" I ask Cass. "You know...the _real_ Adam. Not the knockoff sprite version. What are you gonna tell him?"

"I don't know," Cass admits. "Something. Don't worry about it." Her lips brush against mine. She whispers to me, "_You're no knockoff_."

I close my eyes.


	74. VI Chapter 74: Reality Knocks

Chapter Seventy-Four: Reality Knocks

Anna Carrero silently watched Skaia. It had gone dark.

This was one of Anna's favorite Times to visit - very quiet, very tranquil from her current location. At least, until the fire showed up. But even when the fire erupted from Skaia, Anna could barely hear it. It was mesmerizing to watch.

This was the final stretch of time before the Event Horizon. As a Seer of Time, Anna was capable of projecting herself forwards and backwards through the Alpha Timeline, as well as any of its innumerable doomed offshoots. The only catch was that Anna could not literally see into the future - she could only sense the Probabilities of what was to come, not the events themselves.

The Alpha Timeline had its own distinct set of Probabilities. Traveling through the Alpha Timeline was a simple matter of staying within those Probabilities. Whenever Anna strayed, she would find herself in an offshoot timeline, and would have to retrace her steps.

The Event Horizon was the point within the Alpha Timeline where all the Probabilities suddenly went blank. Anna would try and project herself forward to see what was ahead without actually traveling there, but all she would get from beyond the Event Horizon was blankness. Like white noise on a radio.

Anna had never actively time-traveled beyond the Event Horizon. She had no idea what to expect. Many times she had time-traveled up to the very last instant before the Alpha Timeline diffused into the blankness, only to whisk herself away to safety before experiencing what lay beyond.

She had no idea what to expect. There was nothing scarier to a Seer of Time than the thought of being blind to the future.

Now, Anna preferred to travel to the temporal cusp of the Event Horizon in order to relax.

Anna floated in outer space, drifting through the empty region between Skaia and the eight planets. Skaia was mostly dark, obscured by a thick veil of black clouds. There were giant, looming shapes drifting about within the veil, nightmarish forms and shadows.

A sudden burst of flame. A massive inferno of fire roared into existence, erupting from somewhere under all the dark clouds. The stream of fire appeared small from Anna's distance, but the teenage girl could tell that it was vast. It blasted the dark clouds back, opening up a hole in the darkness large enough for a ship to pass through.

Anna could not see the ship from her current vantage point, but she had spotted it on previous visits to this Time. She had been rather drunk on all those occasions, and all she could recall of the ship was its emerald-green sails. She was less drunk right now, however, and had little desire to stray too near to the unnervingly darkened Skaia. At least, she _felt_ less drunk.

_Speaking of which…_

Anna accessed her sylladex and retrieved her flask of Captain Morgan. She unscrewed the cap, lifted the flask to her lips, and hesitated. Anna's brow twitched in a slight frown. She lowered her flask, stared intently at it.

"You don't make me feel better…" Anna murmured to her flask. "You don't taste good. You don't cure my loneliness. You don't stroke my hair or kiss me. You don't even get me drunk, anymore… Why do I still drink you?"

The flask's only reply was to continue being a flask.

"That's what I thought," Anna grunted. She lifted the flask back to her lips and completely drained it. Then she summoned her chronograils, spun them, allowed herself to fall backwards into the timestream.

There was a haze of red light, cocooning Anna and her chronograils. When the red light cleared, Anna found herself hovering in outer space, in the exact same place she'd been 'before'.

Only now, there was a black stealth corvette bearing down on her.

"Oh, fuck me- _HIC!_" Anna swore and hiccuped at the same time, gaining her wits and struggling to fly up and out of the battleship's way. That was when her vision started to blur.

* * *

><p>The Draconian Dignitary hummed quietly to himself as he selected a blow torch from one of the cabinets filled with torture utensils. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the bloodied, disheveled girl in purple pajamas who was in the questioning chair.<p>

"Do you approve, Sylph?" the Dignitary asked, giving the blow torch a little wave.

The Sylph of Death made no reply. Considering the duct tape secured over her mouth, this did not surprise the Dignitary. He set the blow torch down on the countertop and tugged his sleeves up from his wrists. He washed his hands in the sink, shook them, dried them in a towel.

Upon folding the towel and setting it aside, the Dignitary picked up the blow torch and walked towards the questioning chair. Before commencing with the Sylph's second round of interrogation, the Dignitary performed his routine inspection of the chair's restraints.

The Dignitary clicked his tongue in irritation as he inspected the manacle securing the Sylph's left wrist to the arm of her chair. It was not fully locked. Standing at the door were the two guards who had secured the restraints. The Dignitary looked to them. "Enlighten me," he said. "Is it your wish to see the Sylph's left arm flailing about this way and that whilst I conduct my questioning?"

The two guards traded a furtive glance. Neither of them were comfortable being put on the spot. The best days at work were those when the Dignitary paid them absolutely no mind. Today was not one of those days.

"No, sir," the more senior of the two guards replied.

"Please refasten the left wrist manacle, and do it properly this time," the Dignitary ordered. "Wouldn't want to find yourselves out of a job. Not in this economy. Might kill you."

The senior guard wisely chose not to say anything more than, "Yes, sir." He motioned for his partner to handle the task. The junior guard avoided eye contact with the Dignitary, hurried over to the questioning chair. As he secured the manacle, the Sylph stared at him. The guard met the Sylph's gaze only once, and he felt almost surprised at how lifeless her eyes were.

The junior guard quickly returned to his post, glad to be away from the Sylph. The human female's gaze troubled him.

"Much better, thank you." The Dignitary gave a cold smile as he fired up the blowtorch, adjusting the flame to a concentrated jet. The Sylph's breathing quickened and she struggled her in chair. The Dignitary took a moment to savor the squirming - it amused him when prisoners tried to shy away despite knowing that escape was impossible.

"Now, then," the Dignitary pulled up one of the Sylph's sleeves, baring the arm underneath, "I am going to remove the tape from your mouth. Then you are going to share with me, in minute detail, every last encounter you have had with the dissenters. In particular, with the Wrathful Veteran, whom we know you have met. If you do not comply, then I will use this blow torch to relieve your arm of its epidermal tissue. Does this sound reasonable?"

The Sylph shook her head.

The Dignitary's smile widened. "Good! I would not have it any other way. Now, then-"

The two guards both gave a start of surprise when the door suddenly flew open. Were it not for their quick reflexes, they might have gotten bruised.

"Put the blow torch down, D," Jack Noir ordered as he strode into the interrogation chamber. He then paused, frowning at the Sylph. "You were gonna torch her arm?" he asked, motioning to the Sylph's exposed forearm.

"That was the plan, yes, before the interruption," the Dignitary replied.

The Archagent gave a gruff chuckle. "D, if you're gonna torch someone's arm, do it with the clothing in the way. That way, the clothes burn _into_ the skin. Once you're finished with the torching, then you can start plucking out the burnt fabric, which is incredibly painful."

The Dignitary grunted quietly, mulling it over. "I hadn't considered that," he admitted. "An interesting idea… I will put it to the test, next time. Now, then, to what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?"

"New orders from the Queen," Noir said. "No more interrogations. The Thane was the one with the information we needed, and he's gone. The Sylph's never been to the Onyx. She's got nothing we can use."

The Sylph breathed a sigh of relief through her nostrils.

The Dignitary did not look convinced. "She still may know some things," he argued. "We should make sure."

Noir shook his head. "No dice, D. The Queen's made up her mind. Don't worry - next time we haul in one of the Wrathful Veteran's mid-ranking pukes, you can play with your toys again."

"Very well. No interrogation." The Dignitary shut off the blow torch, returned it to the cabinet. He felt disappointment, but was careful not to let it show. "What does the Queen have in mind, then? Execution of some sort, I assume?"

Jack Noir nodded. "Public hanging in the marketplace."

The Sylph's breath caught in her throat.

"Good location," the Dignitary remarked. "Plenty of room for onlookers. Easy for the commandos to lock down. When will this be taking place?"

"Immediately."

* * *

><p>Cruz Arevalo stared at the joint in his hand.<p>

He did not remember how long he had been standing on the observation deck of the _White Shadow_, hunched over the front rail. The silence was almost therapeutic. Far from Prospit and Skaia, far from the Prospitian Navy, here in the emptiness of the Medium, there was only the near-silent hum of the stealth corvette's engines.

All else was quiet.

Cruz continued to stare at his joint.

"You gonna light up, or what?" Tami Abramov's voice startled Cruz from his reverie.

Cruz drummed his middle and index fingers on the railing. "Thing is, I'm not sure if I should, anymore. It might be getting in the way."

"Getting in the way?" Tami made a face. "Of what?"

"I dunno…don't you think it's odd that I haven't started manifesting any Space powers?" Cruz asked. "I don't even know what the hell it means to be a Sage of Space. My sprite wouldn't tell me anything outside of '_Ho Ho Ho_'."

"Sprites are supposed to be coy with their information," Tami reminded her friend.

"Only the lame ones," Cruz retorted. "There's a difference between being coy and being dumb as a fucking bag of chalk. Santasprite is the latter."

Tami was silent for a few moments, taking in Cruz's words, his tone of voice, his physicality. Then she spoke again. "I don't think I've ever seen you get so fired up, before."

There was a silence.

"You know, in some ways, the world ending was the best thing that could've happened to me," Cruz admitted. He did not know where these thoughts were coming from, but he felt impelled to speak them. "I mean, just think about it. I failed all my classes, except Physics. My GPA was nonexistent. I probably wasn't going to get my diploma, I had no jobs lined up… All I was doing was getting high and partying in Philly. I was a Nobody. Now, here we are, the last humans alive, in some fantastical alternate dimension. Fancy Titles, cool superpowers, our own _planets_ for fuck's sake… And I'm still just as much a Nobody as I was before- _OW!_"

Cruz's rant was cut short by a yelp of pain. Tami had just pinched him on the arm rather painfully. "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," Tami said, "was for being a goof."

"When was I being a goof?"

"Just now, you were being a goof. Saying things only a goof would say."

"You could've just _told_ me I was being a goof! Damn, you didn't have to- _mm,_" Cruz was interrupted once more. Only instead of a pinch, this time it was a kiss. The kiss, to Cruz, felt like it went on forever. He closed his eyes and lost himself in it, until the moment passed and Tami pulled away.

Cruz blinked rapidly, taking several deep breaths to calm his heart. He slowly turned back to the rail. "_Dios mio,_ Tam, what was _that_ for?"

"That was just for being you."

Cruz blinked again. Then he burst out laughing. "What? Tam, that was about the cheesiest thing a person could ever say."

"Hey, fuck you! It was true!" Tami shot back. "This is how the world works - I say something nice, and then I get made fun of. Now, seriously, are you gonna light up? If not, then give it here. I just spent all day playing violin with a jolly old-souled salamander, and I need to stop being sober for a little bit."

"Well…" Cruz thought about passing the joint to Tami, but hesitated at the last moment. A mischievous glint came to his eyes. "A second kiss. That's my price."

It was Tami's turn to blink. "It won't be spontaneous, this time. Could get weird."

"I'll risk it."

Before Kiss #2 could get underway, unfortunately, red lights started flashing all over the ship. There was no blaring alarm - this was a silent alert. Standard protocol for a Prospitian stealth corvette.

"_All hands, action stations,_" the voice of Chela Arevalo hummed all throughout the _White Shadow,_ speaking over the ship-wide COM. "_All hands, action stations. Miss Abramov, will you be a dear and report to the bridge? Please bring my grandson along with you._"

"Kill me," Cruz growled, "Kill me now."

* * *

><p>The Wrathful Veteran blended in with the crowd of citizens amassed in the Grand Marketplace. The usually bustling, frenzied marketplace was quite subdued and still at present, filled almost to bursting with Dersite citizens.<p>

All the locals had been summoned to witness another execution.

Executions were common on Derse, but only the high-profile executions warranted such crowds. A gallows had been erected in the center of the marketplace. A hooded executioner waited patiently, leaning against the beams of the gallows, casually smoking a cigarette.

Also waiting on the gallows was Jack Noir, the Archagent himself.

The Wrathful Veteran had to fight the urge to draw his pistol and finish the Archagent here and now. Such a move would serve only to get the Veteran killed. Even worse, a rushed assassination of Jack Noir would likely result in the Draconian Dignitary becoming the new Archagent, which was a possibility best avoided.

The Wrathful Veteran's breath caught in his throat when the condemned arrived.

"_Skaia's Light, the reports were true_…" the Authority Regulator, who was standing next to the Veteran, breathed. His voice was quiet, still in a mild state of shock. Like the Veteran, he was disguised in civilian clothing. "The Rules truly no longer exist…"

"Did they ever?" the Veteran asked.

The Sylph was led out of the back of an armored truck. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her hair was a mess, her purple pajamas ripped. Her ribs were showing. Bruises covered her face, arms, and legs. One of her fingers was missing.

"What will we do?" the Regulator asked the Veteran.

"Nothing."

The Regulator gave his old friend a look. "You are telling me that we are going to stand here and simply watch the Sylph hang?"

"Yes." The Veteran nodded, swallowing loudly. He had a vile taste in his mouth. "Bearing solemn witness to this event is the most we can do for her. This entire square is on full lockdown. You cannot see the snipers stationed on the rooftops, but they are there. My scouts are monitoring them as we speak. There are also two naval vessels hanging back in reserve. Do you not see, AR? This is a dare. The Queen is _daring_ us to make a move. We will not play her game. We would lose this one."

"Neither will she play your game," the Regulator countered. "The change you seek will not be caused by continued bouts of avoidance and evasion."

"I do not play her game because I _cannot,_" the Veteran maintained. "She does not play my game because she chooses to be patient. The Queen can ultimately outlast us, and she knows this. All she needs to do is hold a tight grip around the peoples' throats, and eventually they will turn on us. Publicly executing a Hero is a perfect way to solidify this chokehold - she will instill a deep fear in all of us. No one will feel safe from her."

"The Queen is flexing her muscle, nothing more," the Regulator declared. "Don't make this seem more complex than it needs to be. If you don't want the Sylph's death to end your dissension, then you will have to make a demonstration of your own strength. Flex your own muscle."

"Difficult to flex one's muscle when martial law is declared," the Wrathful Veteran remarked. "Whatever the solution, it won't be one involving force. It can't be."

The Sylph was led up onto the gallows platform. The executioner tossed his cigarette and got to work, draping the noose around the battered girl's neck, tightening it accordingly. He then pulled a black bag down over the Sylph's head, obscuring her face. Meanwhile, Jack Noir took center stage, unfolded a piece of paper, and proceeded to rattle off a list of phony charges.

"What of the Prince and the Witch?" the Regulator asked the Veteran. "How will they take this?"

"I do not know," the Veteran replied. "Not well, I would imagine."

Jack Noir finished reading off the list of charges. He surprised the Wrathful Veteran by asking the Sylph if she had any last words.

The Sylph's only answer from under the black cloth was silence.

The crowd began to murmur amongst itself. The assembled Dersite citizens had witnessed many public executions, gradually growing more and more desensitized to them. But killing a Hero did not sit well with many of them, in ways the individual Dersites could not quite put their finger on. There was an uneasiness, a tension in the air, as if everyone gathered in the Grand Marketplace knew that they were about to allow something fundamentally _wrong_ to happen.

The commandos stationed at the street entrances tightened their grips on their rifles, waiting for the slightest occurrence of mob violence.

The Wrathful Veteran realized that he was holding his breath. He continued holding it.

Noir gave a single nod to the executioner. The hooded Dersite wrapped his fingers around a wooden lever and heaved it to the side. With a dull clunk_,_ the gallows trapdoor opened underneath the Sylph's feet.

The Sylph plummeted through the empty space. There was a sickening _CRACK_ when the rope drew taut. The Sylph's body hung limp from the noose, her neck bent at an impossible angle, her feet swaying gently.

"Lucky girl." The Wrathful Veteran let out his breath. "Broken neck. Quick. I was afraid she would strangle."

The Authority Regulator gave his old friend another look, but chose to say nothing.

* * *

><p>Chela Arevalo kept a steady eye on the radar hologram.<p>

The radar hologram on the bridge of the _White Shadow_ was relatively straightforward to interpret. The projector was mounted atop a pyramidal fixture, located in the center of the bridge, shaped much like an obelisk. From the apex of the obelisk, a large globe of faint white light was projected, representing the areas of space surrounding the _White Shadow_ within sensor range. The hologram stretched from ceiling to floor.

At the very center of the radar hologram was a miniature representation of the _White Shadow,_ down to the finest detail. Toward the very edges of the radar hologram was a handful of unknown energy signatures, represented as dots of pulsing orange light. These orange dots were moving, gradually cutting across the _White Shadow's_ projected course at a shallow angle.

Chela continued to watch the progress of these dots. As the _White Shadow_ drew closer and closer to them, the orange dots drifted further within sensor range.

"Energy signatures identified," Abigail Tarrant reported from the tactical console, located in the rear of the bridge. The black-haired woman spun around in her swivel chair. "They're Dersite Navy, alright. Should I bring weapon systems online?"

Sure enough, the orange dots on the radar hologram flickered and changed color. They were now red dots.

Chela shook her head. "No, Abby, dear, no weapon systems necessary. Kill the engines, please, would you? And make sure the ship is running completely silent."

Abigail swiveled back around and entered the appropriate commands into the console. "Engines are now offline," she reported. "Energy scrubbers are at full power. We're invisible. Would you like a visual of the enemy contacts?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful."

The main viewscreen flickered to life, displaying an image of six Dersite naval vessels, all traveling in tight formation.

"Three frigates, two destroyers, and a carrier," Chela identified the individual ships by their class. It was easy to tell which ship was which based on the size and armament. "That amounts to a small fleet, I believe...curious, they don't seem to be heading for Skaia. Abby, dear, can you extrapolate their destination? They may be heading for one of the kids' planets."

"You're right," Abigail confirmed, overlaying her calculations with a chart of the Medium, taking a moment to make sure the chart was properly oriented. She looked back to Chela, turning her chair about halfway around. "That fleet's heading straight for the Land of Thunder and Dwarves."

"Cassandra's planet…" Chela murmured softly, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at the six red dots, which were still making their way across the radar hologram. "_Now why would you choose to go there? Afraid of Anubis, are you?_" Chela quietly asked the dots. She adjusted her glasses and turned to face Abigail. "When our Dersite compatriots pass from sensor range, send word of this to the White Admiral. Perhaps he will be able to assist."

The entrance to the bridge hissed open and Cruz hurried through, a worried look on his face. "Hey, uh, Gran? What's with all the flashing red lights?"

"Dersite Navy up ahead," Chela replied. "We're holding position until they pass. Where is Miss Abramov?"

"See, that's the thing… Tam's outside with Anna. And Anna, she's, uh…" Cruz swallowed loudly. "I think she's got alcohol poisoning."


	75. VI Chapter 75: Kissing Cass Galavis

Chapter Seventy-Five: Kissing Cass Galavis

"_You're no knockoff,_" Cass whispered to me.

My eyes closed and we finally kissed.

I've waited a long time for this kiss.

Cass and I have been casual friends for a couple years, now. Might not seem so long to other people, but for me it has felt like a century. Memories of every conversation I've shared with her still stand out in stark detail. Especially the awkward ones.

It's an agonizing feeling - loving someone without knowing how to say so. And while also being part bird...a fact I really don't know how Cass is overlooking.

I can't offer relationship advice to anyone. Good advice is given from experience. In my experience, one way to get the girl you like to kiss you is to die, get revived as a not-quite-sane energy creature, and accompany her on a quest through a land filled with Dwarves.

Not very helpful advice, I'm quite aware.

And yet… Perhaps I can offer another piece of advice. _You just might surprise yourself_.

Kissing Cass (on the mouth!), as I said, is something I've wanted for a long time. But it's always been like a far-off dream. An idea, forged in the mind of a horny teenager. Nothing truly substantial about it. All in my head. For all my feelings, I suppose I never truly believed I'd ever get the chance to bring this idea into reality.

_You just might surprise yourself_.

Well, I certainly surprised myself. Not only am I finally getting that kiss, but I am getting it while lying on a warm beach. Life could not get any better than this. I kept my eyes blissfully closed, willing this moment to last forever.

It did not.

I was startled back to reality by a deafening explosion startled me. The kiss ended abruptly. More explosions followed - they were not stopping..

Cass gasped and pulled away.

My eyes flew open to a hellish sight. The sky was ablaze with streaks of fiery red light. They reminded me of Star Wars battle sequences; a thunderous hail of deadly laserfire. As I overcame my initial shock, I realized that I was witnessing precisely that: a thunderous hail of deadly laserfire.

Behind me, Tyrene burned. Tendrils of smoke were already rising from the city, and I could hear screaming. Elsewhere on this beach, Dwarves were hurrying away from the water, fleeing their fishing boats, trying to reach the city. Some made it, some did not. The harbor quickly caught fire, and the smell of burnt fish soon took to the winds.

Cass was shouting. She was looking up at the sky, her gaze fixated on the laserfire.

Some of the projectiles were larger than others - the larger ones shined more brightly, and they caused much deadlier explosions upon impact. These were the artillery shots. The smaller laser bolts did not cause explosions - they did, however, cut straight through any surface they came into contact with. The primarily wood and stone dwellings of Tyrene had no defense against them.

Watching the laser barrage sparked memories from before my death. I suddenly remembered Prospit burning, its golden towers torn down, its streets disfigured by craters. Smoke everywhere, stinging the eyes, suffocating the throat. Prospitian soldiers were running past me, forging on ahead into the smoke, their sergeants and lieutenants hollering orders. And up in the sky? That very same laserfire.

I've seen it before.

"_No fucking way…_" I murmur under my breath, making the connection. No fucking way my kiss got interrupted by _these_ fuckers...

I was going to have stern words with the Black Queen over this. Very stern words.

A purple ship emerged from the storm clouds. It was large, though not quite so large as some of the battleships I've seen - significantly smaller, in fact. That would make it a frigate, or a destroyer - I always get the two mixed up. The ship was moving from south to north, several miles off the coast, presenting its starboard side to Tyrene. Every last cannon in the ship's starboard battery was ablaze, firing bolt after bolt across the ocean at the city.

Derse was here.

At first, panic threatens to coil in my chest, but then it subsides into an almost startling sense of calmness. I knew that I need not focus on anything beyond getting Cass the hell off this beach. Staying put, above all other things, was not an option. The Eagle was already soaring back into my conscious mind from its alpine home in the snowier regions of my imagination. The imminent danger had manifested as thunderclouds howling at the Eagle's nest in the mountains, alerting the avian consciousness of my plight.

Still in shock, Cass started asking, "Why is Derse's Navy-?"

"I don't know." I interrupted, my face flushing as the Eagle's reflexes took hold, the sprite-equivalent of adrenaline beginning to course through my body. "Probably to kill you. C'mon, we gotta go." I wrapped my arms around Cass's torso, spread my wings, and took to the skies in two powerful wingbeats. I flew over the city walls and banked towards the Merchant Quarter. I had to link up with the other sprites - that alone would increase our chances of escaping Tyrene with our lives.

The streets were filled with fleeing Dwarves. Corpses, too. Consorts were getting crushed by falling masonry, vaporized by impact from the laser bolts, torn to ribbons by the explosions. Blood was flowing, sickeningly unimpeded, through the troughs on the sides of the roads.

Nausea clenched at my stomach. I turned my gaze away from the streets below. The veil of smoke settling over the burning city was gradually thickening, inducing potentially hazardous fits of coughing. Twice, I was nearly struck by a laser bolt - on the second occasion, the energy beam actually singed several of my wing feathers.

"Adam, put me down!" Cass yelled. "We have to help them!"

"How?" I shouted back. "Carry them all?"

"I don't know, but we have to do something! They're my consorts!"

"Cass, I'm not—_agh!_"

Pain tore through the left side of my abdomen. My wings faltered and I plummeted towards the streets below. The Eagle's reflexes swelled, taking control of my flight. The Eagle threw itself into a short corkscrew, turning me face-up, shielding Cass from the impact. I regained enough control to look down, over my shoulder, and saw a tiled roof whooshing up to greet me.

Before my vision faded to black, I felt myself reaching out my arm. A bright conflagration erupting from my hand.

I blacked out before the crash.

I spend an indeterminate amount of time swimming through a hazy dream. I move through this dream as would a sleepwalker. All I hear is humming, distorted voices; all I see are blurred colors, impressions of shapes. But then the humming fades, the colors subside, and I return to consciousness.

My eyes flew open.

The pain I'd felt in the left of my abdomen was still there, now a mild throb. I looked down to inspect it and saw a ragged hole in my torso, large enough for me to fit almost two fingers side by side. Luminescent, cherry-red sprite 'blood' oozed from the wound. It had to have been one of the smaller laser bolts. If I'd been hit by one of the larger artillery projectiles, pleasant memories would have been all that remained of me.

At first I was puzzled as to why I wasn't screaming in pain. But then I remembered - I'm still part Knight. I can get sliced up within an inch of my life, and I can still keep on going.

All the same, that didn't make me immune to dying. I needed to get this healed pronto.

I regain my bearings.

Cass was lying next to me, motionless. I could see her chest rising and falling, so I knew she was merely unconscious.

We were surrounded by broken timber and shattered terracotta tiles. The debris was charred, still smoldering. I looked around and observed that we are in what appeared to be a child's bedroom. The bed was overturned, the rug burned half away. Daylight was shining on us through the gaping hole in the ceiling I'd just created.

Outside, I no longer heard explosions. Instead, those explosions had been replaced with small-arms fire. I recognized the loud, hissing pulse rifle discharges from my time spent fighting the Dersite Army in Skaia, alongside Theo. It's not exactly a sound I could forget. Hearing that sound meant the Dersite ship must have landed ground troops. As I continued to listen, I made out carapacian voices shouting orders to each other in the streets below.

Carapacian voices sound..._different_ from ours. A little more mechanical, almost. Artificial. It's difficult to describe, yet easy to distinguish. The voices I hear are most definitely carapacian. I did not want them finding me.

Time to go.

I tred to wake Cass, but she didn't respond. I then noticed a massive bruise on the side of her forehead - she was probably concussed. That meant her being unconscious was actually life-threatening, but I didn't know how to revive her. Coming to a snap decision, I held out a hand, invoked Force, and levitated Cass's body, draping her onto my back. I took hold of her arms and wrapped them around my upper chest, made sure they wouldn't slip up to my neck and strangle me mid-flight.

Then I launched myself out through the hole in the ceiling. My wings flared and I shot straight up into the sky. I climbed and climbed, my wings beating firmly, rapidly gaining altitude, carrying me far from range of any Dersite troops who may have spotted me. If I got shot again, it was game over. No way I could continue to carry Cass with a second wound. Not when the first wound was already giving me trouble.

I set my jaw and leveled out, pointing myself east. The Dersite naval vessel still loomed in the sky, raining laserfire down on Tyrene. Thankfully, it neither pursued nor even seemed to take notice of me. That would have been slightly problematic.

I chose to stop looking back.

* * *

><p>Gwen Twymann's fingers struggled to keep up with her thoughts.<p>

She was lying on her back, rearranging the insides of a gutted truck engine. "Jesus, when's the last time you guys gave your vehicles an upgrade?" Gwen asked. "These pistons look like they have a venereal disease."

The Onyx's motor pool chief - a squat, short-legged Dersite man named Slickstain - emitted a low rumbling sound from deep in his throat. It had taken Gwen a little while to realize that this was merely laughter. She was now used to it.

"A venereal disease, huh?" Slickstain laughed some more. "Apt way of putting it. We haven't had replacement parts in over thirty years. It's high time we raided one of the Law Enforcement vehicle depots. No chance of that now, though, not with the commandos runnin' things."

"Well, that's real unfortunate, 'cuz the only thing holding the intake pipe in place appears to be a strip of duct tape - _fuck,_" Gwen swore. Her fingers had slipped momentarily, accidentally connecting a frayed wire with something it should not have touched. This produced a loud _zap,_ followed by a shower of sparks.

"_mm,_" Slickstain grunted. "You alright down there, miss?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm good...can't say the same about this wire, though." Gwen took a moment to put her index finger in her mouth - she had actually gotten a mild burn from the zap, though she did not consider it serious enough to raise attention.

She got a good grip on the faulty wire and tore it out.

Without missing a beat, Gwen pulled a new length of wire from her sylladex, along with a pair of snips. The motor pool chief saw this and gave a start of surprise. "Skaia Burning, Witch, where the hell'd you pull those parts from?"

"My sylladex," Gwen replied, using her snips to cut the new wire to size. She then set about attaching it to the engine. "It's sort of a trans-dimensional 'pocket' you can store stuff in. I wouldn't bother asking how it works - your eyes would glaze over."

"Have you got anymore parts tucked away?"

"Plenty. Don't have any intake pipes, though, and a new intake pipe is what this truck really needs. Along with a new suspension." Gwen sighed, taking a moment to breathe before successfully installing the new wire. The engine gave a soft hum, its circuitry restored. She wiped the sweat from her forehead

Gwen then rolled herself out from under the truck, sitting up from the dolly she'd been lying on. "That should keep it in one piece, so long as no one drives it over a mine," Gwen reported. She stretched her arms and legs, standing up. "Still, I can't promise it'll live through another brush with commandos. Better keep it on supply runs - I wouldn't trust it with transporting wounded."

"Won't be going out on supply runs much longer," Slickstain said. "Big fight's brewing, topside. I've seen it happen before. This'll be the last one, though. After the dust clears, if we ain't on the winning side, it'll probably be because we all got transformed into carbonized skeletons. Won't need to keep stealin' supplies, either way."

"Do you think we'll win?" Gwen asked.

Slickstain grunted again, shrugging. "Probably not."

It was Gwen's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Anyone ever tell you to stop being so optimistic?" she asked, surprised by the frankness of the motor pool chief's answer.

Slickstain rumbled with more laughter, taking no offense. "Can't say anyone ever has, no. Like I said, Witch, this isn't Derse's first civil war. Don't suppose you've ever seen the Red Miles?" This elicited no response from Gwen. "Didn't think so, didn't think so. You will. And that'll probably be the moment you agree with me, whether you want to or not."

"You don't sound very stressed over it," Gwen observed. "You not afraid of dying horribly?"

That got another shrug from Slickstain. "Don't think so," the head mechanic replied. "Won't know for sure 'til I'm dying horribly."

Gwen had no answer to this. She considered the Dersite's words in silence. She might have lapsed into deep thought were it not for the interruption that was on its way.

"_GWEN!_" Gino Caiazzo's sharp tones cut across the motor pool. The teenage boy stormed across the lot of derelict trucks, walking at a pace just shy of jogging. An expression of fury was etched onto his face. "Gwen, they killed her! They fuckin' killed her!"

"Prince ain't happy," Slickstain remarked, giving no other reaction to Gino's tirade.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Gwen held up a hand as Gino made his way over to her. "Who killed-?"

"_Cass, they killed Cass!_" Gino shouted, cutting Gwen off mid-question. "They hanged her, the fuckin' animals, they fuckin' _hanged_ her!"

"Cass is dead?" Gwen's voice was very quiet. She found herself more stunned by the news than anything else. Blinking rapidly, she asked, "When did this happen?"

"It happened today! A public fuckin' hanging in the biggest fuckin' marketplace on this shithole planet! And they knew, these dissenter fuckers, they fuckin' _knew_ about it!" Gino's face was growing redder by the minute. "Mister Angry Veteran fuckin' watched the whole thing happen, and didn't breathe a single fuckin' word of it to us! Just kept us in the fuckin' dark while Cass choked on the end of a fuckin' rope! C'mon, let's go," Gino growled, turning back towards the direction of the Onyx's command center.

"Where?"

"We're gonna have ourselves a little fuckin' chat with our friend the Veteran," Gino said, finally regaining enough control over his anger to lower his voice a fraction. "And you're comin' with me to stop me from fuckin' snapping his neck."

Slickstain did not move from his stool.

He watched impassively as Gino took Gwen by the arm and pulled her away from the motor pool. The head mechanic was left on his own once more.

The motor pool chief pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He removed a cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply. "_Heroes_..." he murmured, speaking to no one, exhaling a concentrated stream of smoke. "Never a dull day when Heroes are around."

* * *

><p>I can't remember how long I flew.<p>

All I remembered was my heartbeat and my breathing rate. Pain and fatigue were held just shy of full conscious awareness. I also remembered it turning to nightfall as I made my way eastward. Cass's body grew heavier and heavier. Morning returned, and I could no longer ignore the burning in my arms and wings.

My wound bled all through the night. By the time Mount Goldmont winked at me over the horizon, I was about to drop from exhaustion and blood loss. Through sheer force of will, I closed the distance between myself and the mountain. I swooped down over the dwarven city and landed in front of a great oaken hall, towards the center.

Bells started to ring. There were guards stationed outside the great hall, and they rushed towards me.

I felt delirious, at this point. I lower Cass to the ground before I lost my hold on her. My sprite knowledge pressed against the corners of my mind, reminding me of my dangerously depleted energy.

I'm going to have to enter into hibernation in order to heal. I've done it before, but there's no way of knowing how long I'll be down for the count.

Cass was going to be on her own for a while.

The dwarf-consorts reached us.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Wymar Redbeard, the barrel-chested, battleaxe-wielding Captain of the Guard, demanded to know. The ruddy-haired Dwarf knelt down to examine Cass, discarding his helmet. "The Sylph, is she…?"

"Severe concussion. Needs a healer..." I squeezed the words out, fighting an uphill battle to remain conscious. I pressed a hand to my wound, applying pressure. Black spots encroached on the edges of my vision.

With the last of my strength, I grabbed Wymar by the arm.

"_Seventh Gate_…" I whispered to the Dwarf. "_Through her Seventh Gate… She has to find Anubis._"


	76. VI Chapter 76: Gino Has a Meltdown

Chapter Seventy-Six: Gino has a Meltdown

As Gino's yelling continued, Gwen Twymann found herself zoning out. Cast adrift, once again, into meandering currents of thought.

Presently, Gwen's thoughts carried her away - far, far away from the Wrathful Veteran's upstairs quarters. Away to the emerald-green oceans of the Land of Shores and Prisms, where Gwen had grown quite used to closing her eyes and losing herself to the _Viridian Wind's_ perpetual up-and-down bobbing.

The Wrathful Veteran attempted to say something, but Gino merely drowned him out with a deluge of profanity.

The door to the Veteran's quarters opened a fraction. An armed guard poked his head inside, an expression of concern etched onto his face. He made eye contact with the Veteran, gave him a questioning look. The Veteran discreetly motioned for the guard to leave. The guard quietly closed the door, all without Gino noticing.

The snick of the closing door, ironically, did what the summation of Gino's swearing and shouting could not - bring Gwen back to full awareness.

Upon snapping back into focus, Gwen studied the Wrathful Veteran's wearied expression. There was some degree of resignation in the Dersite revolutionary's face. He was going to let Gino run at full throttle until he ran out of juice. However, the Veteran did not know Gino as well as Gwen did. He did not know just how long Gino was capable of carrying on.

Gwen had no intention of standing in this room for a full two hours.

Time to move things along.

"Gino, will you please shut up?" Gwen interrupted Gino, achieving the impossible and shutting him up.

The words flowing freely from Gino's mouth caught, suddenly, in his throat. Stunned into a momentary silence, Gino gaped at his friend, still opening and closing his mouth, searching for an appropriate reply. "...did you just-?"

"Yeah, I did," Gwen interrupted once again. She turned to the Veteran. "Now, I believe you were gonna explain why the fuck you let Cass hang without telling us."

"Simple," the Wrathful Veteran replied. "At the time, I did not trust you."

That warranted another blowup from the Caiazzo end of the conversation.

"Don't fuckin' _what_ now? You wanna talk about trust, you sack of rancid maggoty dog shit, I'll tell you a thing or two about-"

Gwen accessed her sylladex and retrieved a heavy roll of duct tape. "If you don't shut up right now, so help me God this goes on your mouth." To drive her point home, she pulled a strip of tape out from the roll, ready to tear it off, daring Gino to speak again.

Gino dared. "C'mon, Gwen, we both know you're not gonna-"

"No more sex, then."

That shut Gino right up.

"As for you…" Gwen turned back to the Veteran, returning the duct tape to her sylladex. "Start talking, and choose your words carefully. You're on thin fucking ice, and you won't like what's underneath it when it breaks."

"Duly noted." The Wrathful Veteran acknowledged the threat, chose to let it pass without further scrutiny. The Heroes were angry - he understood this. Anger caused people to speak boldly. The Veteran leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers. "I learned of the Queen's intention to execute the Sylph-"

"She has a fuckin' name, you know," Gino broke his silence yet again. This time, however, Gwen shot him no glare.

The Wrathful Veteran did not skip a beat. "I learned of the Queen's intention to execute Miss Galavis mere hours before the event took place. And yes, I chose to withhold this information from the both of you. Tell me...had I shared this information with you, what might you have done? Would you have tried to save your friend's life?"

Gwen was silent for a moment. Then she answered, honestly, "Yeah, I imagine so."

"I thought as much." The Veteran nodded. "A terrible, terrible thing, losing a friend in such a way. I have lost my fair share. Were our positions reversed, I would have given the same answer. And that is why I could not inform you of Miss Galavis's impending execution. The square was locked down with snipers, a full battalion of commandos, as well as naval support. You would have ignored this. You would have flown in to the rescue, and you both would have died glorious deaths. Then Miss Galavis would have hanged anyway."

"You don't know that for sure…" Gino said, though his tone was rather halfhearted.

"Need I remind you, Prince, of what happened the last time you acted against my will and attempted to rescue Miss Galavis?"

Gino had no reply, nor did he require one.

"If we are to emerge in one piece from this entanglement with the Crown, we are going to need the help of Heroes," the Wrathful Veteran declared. "We need the symbolism you embody. We need your support. Dead Heroes can offer neither."

"Well, you can make a nice speech when you need to, I'll give you that," Gwen remarked. "Still… You played the trust card, just now, and I'm wondering why we shouldn't play it too."

"I'll never tell you why you should do something, Miss Twymann," the Veteran stated. "The 'should' of any given situation is a matter of personal motivation, which I am quite incapable of controlling. No, all I will do is ask for your help."

"Help?" Gwen asked. "Help with what?"

"Our next move," the Wrathful Veteran replied. "The Queen took Miss Galavis's life. In return, we shall take half her kingdom."

"How?"

"Television," the Veteran answered. "We are going to fight with television."

* * *

><p>There was a Prospitian standing watch outside the door to Anna's room.<p>

The Prospitian performed her duty without complaint, though she soon grew weary of listening to the sounds of sobbing and vomiting that frequently drifted under the crack between the door and the metal floor. She knew little of humans, but she had not thought it possible for someone's body to hold so much bile.

Standing watch made for a dull experience, but the Prospitian was a member of the Navy. She was used to dull experiences. She _preferred_ dull experiences.

Dull was safe.

"_You're still here?_"

The Prospitian was surprised by the familiar voice approaching from down the corridor, which made her realize that she had been zoning out. Shaking her head once, the Prospitian looked down the corridor, identifying the source of the voice. It was the Muse, bearing a tray of bread, fried eggs, and water.

"Yes, Muse, I'm still here," the Prospitian replied. "Orders from the skipper."

"Must get dull, standing in front of a door all day long," Tami remarked.

The Prospitian chuckled quietly to herself, and Tami did not know why. "Very dull," the sailor agreed. "That's what I like most about it."

"Really?" That had not been the answer Tami was expecting. She hesitated before entering the room beyond the door, experiencing some inexplicable impulse to continue the conversation. "How can you like being bored without losing your mind?"

The Prospitian fixed Tami with an impassive gaze. "When I'm bored, it means nothing is happening. And when nothing is happening, my life expectancy doesn't suffer."

"You afraid?"

"Of what, Muse?"

"Dying."

"No, I am not afraid of dying," the Prospitian replied. She chuckled a second time, however, and quickly added, "Doesn't mean I don't want to live."

On impulse, Tami asked the sailor, "What's your name?"

"Unit-G0040000."

"Can you get the door for me, G? My hands are full."

"Of course, Muse."

"_Tami,_" the teenaged girl blurted out.

The Prospitian paused, her hand on the door's lever. She threw Tami a questioning glance.

"My name," Tami clarified. "Tami Abramov. That's my name. Please, can you use it? Not many people know it, anymore."

"Of course, Tami Abramov." The Prospitian pushed the lever, allowing the door to swing open. "Careful in there. Don't let the Seer vomit on you."

Tami walked into the room. The door was closed behind her.

The room itself was spacious due to there being only one bed, as opposed to the bunks usually found in the crew quarters. The floor was metal, the walls were metal, and the ceiling was - you guessed it - metal. This did not make the room lively by any means, though interior decorating has rarely been a priority on military vessels.

Anna Carrero sat on the floor, leaning back against one of the walls, her knees drawn almost all the way up to her chin. Her eyes were sunken, her skin pallid, her shoulder-length black hair hanging in limp strands. She had a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, and yet she seemed to be lightly shivering. A plastic bucket rested to her left, about a third of the way full with puke.

"You look like shit," Tami observed.

"Feel like shit," Anna confirmed, glancing up at Tami with dark, bloodshot eyes. "And a 'hello' would've sufficed."

Tami shrugged, setting the tray of food down. "Could say the same to you," she said. "A 'hello' would've been better than showing up half-dead from alcohol poisoning. Is this all you've been doing? Drinking and time-hopping?"

Anna shook her head, reaching for the tray of food, picking up a piece of bread. "More like drinking _while_ time-hopping. Sorta fun, you know, if you have the head for that kind of thing. Lots of time threads to keep track of, and not to mention the perspective of causality-"

"Well, while you've been off having your 'fun', we've been getting pummeled," Tami interrupted, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. "Some of us have been shot. Some of us have been stabbed. According to Gwen, Cass's dream self died in a public hanging earlier today. You know about that?"

"No." Anna shook her head, which caused her to wince and clasp a clenched fist to one of her temples. "I've steered clear of Derse." She nibbled on the bread. "I've been shot, too, you know. Twice. I didn't like the experience."

There was a silence on Tami's end. After considering Anna's words for a moment, Tami chose to sit across from the other girl. "How'd you get shot?"

Anna nibbled off a little more of the bread. "I was crossing items off my temporal things-to-do list." She paused for a sip of water before returning to the slice of bread. "So many kinks to straighten out… Keeping the Alpha Timeline intact hasn't been easy. I took Adam three hundred years into the past - we needed to get one of his consort tribes to spark an uprising. Otherwise, they would've died out, which then would've led to the destruction of the other two tribes...like I said, causality is huge for Heroes of Time. So I take Adam back through the timestream, and, almost immediately..._POW!_" Anna tapped her left eye. "Energy bolt right through the head. I revived afterwards, of course - god tier, and all that - but that doesn't mean I forgot."

"Since when did you reach the god tiers?"

"That was the very first thing I did here, before I started time-hopping," Anna replied, finishing the first slice of bread. She picked up the second and took a small bite. "Went straight to my quest bed and...well, that was the second time I was shot."

Anna gave Tami a challenging look, as if to say, '_Do you really want the details?_'.

Tami did not ask for the details. She watched Anna continue to peck away at the bread. "The Dersites tried to kill me, not long after Entry," she shared. "They sent an assassin who was very good with knives. Gino was with me. He saved my life. Got a knife jammed up through the back of his head for his trouble…" Tami's voice started to trail off into a murmur. "You know, I never knew a person could bleed so much…"

"Has your vagina taught you nothing?"

The question was so unexpected; Tami felt as if she'd been zapped by an electric socket. She threw her head back and burst out laughing. Since her 'fake laughing' exercises with Jurgen von Kessler, laughter seemed to come much easier to Tami, much more naturally.

"Straight-up laughter?" Anna sounded surprised. "No witty comebacks? No biting retorts? You've changed, Tam."

"And you? Putting yourself through withdrawal when you could just time-hop your way out of this cushy little hilton of a ship to find more booze?" Tami pointed out. "The Anna Carrero I knew would've done no such thing."

"The idea has occurred…more than once..." Anna murmured, her gaze growing unfocused and vacant for the briefest of moments. Then she snapped back, dropping her piece of bread and reaching over to her puke bucket. "Thanks for bringing me dinner. Now you might wanna get the fuck out before I tag your shoes."

Tami took the hint and stood up. "Get better soon, Anna. We need you out there." She turned away and headed for the door.

"_Tam, wait._"

Tami stopped in front of the door at Anna's behest, turning back around.

Anna reached down her shirt and pulled a small, flat rectangular object from her bra. It was a captchalogue card. She held it out to Tami. "Do me a favor and burn this, okay?"

"Okay." Tami took the card and, without another word, opened the door and stepped back into the corridor. She traded a quick nod with G before walking away. As she reached the end of the corridor and entered one of the stairwells, Tami glanced down at the captchalogue card.

It contained Anna's Captain Morgan flask.


	77. VI Chapter 77: Butcher's Bill

Chapter Seventy-Seven: Butcher's Bill

Gwen Twymann's brow was creasing in a deep frown as she studied her navigation charts.

The Library Key, recovered from the Tomb of the Noble, turned out to be a very simple contraption. It offered a set of coordinates coupled with a specific time of day. When the _Viridian Wind_ arrived at the proper time and place, the Library Key would begin to glow a certain color.

Gwen quickly figured out that the Key was showing them which way to go – there would always be a prism crystal formation (one of the eponymous features of the Land of Shores and Prisms) protruding from the ocean, somewhere in the visible distance, that shined primarily with a color corresponding to the color offered by the Key. Upon reaching that particular prism crystal, the Key would then offer a new set of coordinates, a new time of day.

The _Viridian Wind_ had gone through this cycle six times, already. Six sets of coordinates, six prisms, six course alterations. Thus far. The first prism had been red, the second had been orange, and so on and so forth. Currently, the _Viridian Wind_ was following a westward course, set by the most recent prism in the sequence – Prism Number Six. Indigo.

It stood to reason that Prism Number Seven would be violet.

The search for the Library of All was coming to a head. Gwen could feel it.

Aristophanes stood across the table, poring over those same navigation charts, a similar expression to Gwen's quickly forming on his own features. He was the first to look up. "Our next target coordinates will land us north of the Gray Shoals. You know what that means, Witch?"

"Marauder territory," Gwen muttered. "I'm aware. How long do we have?"

"At this speed?" Aristophanes calculated the _Viridian Wind's_ velocity - a respectable five knots heading west - along with the distance between the ship and the Gray Shoals. "I estimate eight hours. Best get some rest before then. You'll want to be lucid if we're facing those necrophile shits."

"No." Gwen shook her head. "Well, yes and no. Yes, I'll want to be lucid; but no, I won't be resting up just yet. I need to alchemize, first. I've been working on something since we left the Metropolis, and I think it's high-time we installed it."

Several minutes passed by. Gwen took her leave and immediately found herself working furiously in her laboratory.

Calling it a 'laboratory', perhaps, may be a bit of a stretch.

In truth, Gwen's laboratory was merely a small concealed room belowdecks that had once been used for storing contraband. The _Viridian Wind_ primarily smuggled rum and fragments of knowledge from the Library of All; both of which were branded as contraband by the Assembly.

Presently, the concealed room contained Gwen's Alchemiter.

Gwen's fingers moved across her Alchemiter's touch-screen with the speed and precision of a master pianist. Apart from the movement of her fingers and eyelids, Gwen might have appeared as would a statue to the outside observer. However, were that same outside observer to take a glimpse into Gwen's mind, they would have been gifted with a spectacular light show of ideas and creative implementation.

In the past, Gwen had two main hobbies that were able to really fire up her neurons in ways that video games fell miserably short: drawing up architectural designs for buildings, and repairing broken-down car engines. Something about figuring out the workings of complex systems had an effect on Gwen's mind similar to the effect Doritos might have on one's tastebuds.

Alchemizing was even better. Gwen quickly figured out how to 'hack' the Alchemiter and break build grist down into its base energetic components. Learning how to mathematically resolve those components into the items Gwen wished to create had not been so easy, and the experimentation was still ongoing.

However, Gwen had the Light Aspect on her side.

Before long, Gwen stopped playing around with items already listed under the Alchemiter's seemingly (though not quite) infinite registry, and started designing her own objects from scratch.

In her mind, Gwen could see each individual strand of data she was manipulating from the broken-down build grist. She had started by 'zooming in' all the way and using the potential energy of the broken-down grist to mimic the basic molecular structure of titanium, copied from an old Chemistry I textbook from freshman year, using this as a template of sorts for her design. Not all of the design would be made of titanium – there were three magnetic coils Gwen needed to add which could not be titanium, a nonmagnetic metal.

Today, Gwen was taking the programmed templates of these three magnetic coils and adding them into the larger design. When she was finished, an indeterminate amount of time later, Gwen uploaded her design (magnetic coils and all) directly into the Alchemiter's processing hub.

The Alchemiter's laser winked on.

The laser was mounted on the 'wrist' of a multi-jointed mechanical arm. The mechanical arm unfolded and turned the laser on its horizontal axis, holding it nearly flush with the Alchemiter's circular plate. The green laser beam started to quiver and pulsate.

The mechanical arm drew the laser across the base of the alchemy plate, initiating the process of alchemizing Gwen's design, layer by layer. Gradually, the design was 'printed' by the laser into physical form.

The object that materialized was a seven-foot-long titanium railgun.

Gwen captchalogued the entire railgun within a single card, whisking it away from the alchemy plate. She then returned to the Alchemiter's touch-screen and uploaded the programming for the railgun's ammunition into the processing hub.

Before initiating the command, however, Gwen made two quick alterations - first, she put the alchemization process on a continuous loop; second, she programmed the printing laser to send the alchemized ammunition directly to her sylladex. This was something she would not normally do – it was a hazardous process, prone to glitches. However, it was relatively safe to use it for such a simple thing as ammunition mass-production.

Within seconds, cannon shells filled with pressurized Greek fire – or 'pyroshot', as the turtle-consorts called it – began to stack up within Gwen's sylladex space. When the stack counter reached fifty, Gwen halted the process and shut down the Alchemiter. The touch-screen went dark, the laser winked off, and the mechanical arm folded back into resting position.

Gwen had to pause for a deep breath before standing up. She was exhausted. Her brain felt like it had been kept awake all night studying for a calculus exam. Channeling the Light Aspect was sometimes very draining on the body.

Several more minutes passed by.

Gwen left her lab and returned to the deck, climbing several ladders up through the bowels of the _Viridian Wind_. She was greeted by a sky which had shifted color from a vibrant afternoon orange to a subdued maroon. Skaia had already set. It was now dusk, teetering on the very cusp of night.

Aristophanes was manning the _Viridian Wind's_ helm, making minute adjustments to the ship's course in compensation for the ever-so-slightly shifting breeze. Crewmembers were scrubbing the decks and checking all the rope lines. Members of the gun crews were busy inspecting their cannons. If there was going to be a skirmish, they would not want their weapons malfunctioning.

Gwen patiently weaved her way through all the activity, approaching Aristophanes. "New cannon's almost ready," she told the _Viridian Wind's_ first mate. "How much longer 'til we hit the Gray Shoals?"

"Three hours," the first mate replied, nudging the helm a bit to the left. "Provided the wind holds, that is. Be quick about your installation, Witch, so you might grab some sleep afterward."

"Yeah, will do." Gwen turned around and headed for the bow of the ship. Aristophanes was right, of course – she needed to sleep. Sleep, however, meant dreaming of Derse, where Gwen was never eager to go.

Pushing all thoughts of Derse aside for the moment, Gwen cleared a space towards the bow of the ship, just in front of the foremast. From this spot, the railgun would have a clear shot at anything approaching the _Viridian Wind_ from the front or sides. Luckily, the _Viridian Wind_ lacked a figurehead, which would have gotten in the railgun's way.

Gwen retrieved the captchalogue card containing the railgun from her sylladex, deploying the weapon straight onto the deck. She had designed the baseplate with many holes, allowing her to secure the railgun to the deck with a power drill and screws. Fortunately, the railgun itself was relatively lightweight – so long as it did not sustain a direct hit from a marauder cannon, it would not topple over.

Corsairs were beginning to gather round while Gwen opened up the insides of the railgun. While the Metropolis covertly utilized reverse-engineered Dersite technology, most of these corsairs had never set foot inside the capital city. This titanium weapon must have appeared all sorts of alien to them.

Gwen retrieved three more items from her sylladex – a hefty coil of wires, a pair of wire snips, and a metal fixture containing a suspended crystal shard that was glowing a bright cyan.

"What's the shiny thing, Witch?" one of the more inquisitive corsairs asked, drawn in by the alluring gleam of the cyan crystal.

"_Mm?_" Gwen grunted, jolted out of her focus by the question. She immediately connected the dots, however, and replied, "Oh, that's the power source. Omnicrystal shard. Wouldn't recommend touching it, not if you want to keep all your fingers."

Gwen installed the power source and went about connecting the wires to the control panel, the powered hinges, the trigger mechanism, and the magnetic coils. The corsairs continued to watch, utterly transfixed. Gwen found herself quietly wishing they were able to witness her working on a car – now _that_ would have been a sight for them to see. For all the modesty Gwen tried to project around herself in order to make up for her IQ, she secretly loved having people watch her at work.

As Gwen sealed the railgun back up, the gathered consorts were broken up and sent scurrying back to their tasks by Nothon – the crotchety old whip-wielding bosun. No one liked being at the receiving end of that whip. Interesting as the railgun was, nothing was worth the whip.

Left to her own devices once more, Gwen finally retired to her bunk belowdecks and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>When the heavy rolling drumbeats of the ship's Cadence roused Gwen from her deep sleep, she could scarcely remember her dream on Derse. She retained vague flashes of planning for an upcoming assault of some sort. Something involving a TV station?<p>

A moot point, since she had no time to try and recall – the sounding Cadence could mean only one thing:

Twelve different kinds of trouble – each equipped with its own capital T and exclamation point.

Gwen took the nearest ladder up to the deck, taking care not to get trampled by consorts hurrying to their stations. The ship's Captain was bellowing orders from the quarterdeck, though Gwen could not see him from her vantage point. She could, however, spot Aristophanes at the helm.

The wind had died down to a gentle breeze. The _Viridian Wind_ was still moving at a good speed, but not as quickly as before.

Nothon was the one sounding the Cadence, striking the large drum with a pair of proportionately large padded mallets. He traded a quick nod with Gwen as she brushed past, taking her place at the railgun.

Gwen retrieved an artillery shell from her sylladex, slotting it into the railgun's chamber. She brought the weapon online. The railgun gave a quiet hum as the magnetic coils came to life.

Finally, Gwen looked out beyond the rails of the _Viridian Wind_. To the very distant south, the coastline had become a ragged system of rocky beaches, broken up by river mouths, tributaries, inlets of water. From the gray hue of the sand, Gwen assumed (correctly) that the _Viridian Wind_ had arrived at the Gray Shoals.

To the west – the direction in which the _Viridian Wind_ was sailing – was a looming bank of gray mist. The breeze was not powerful enough to disperse it. From that mist, three black ships had emerged, sailing on an intercept course. A shiver crept up Gwen's spine as she studied the ships. They were, without a doubt, marauder vessels.

Although Gwen had known that a second encounter with the marauders was inevitable in this part of the ocean, she had nevertheless nursed the hope that it would not come to pass.

A forlorn hope, as it turned out.

One ship versus three. Last time the _Viridian Wind_ encountered marauders, it had been against only two of the vessels, and only one of those ships had managed to land boarding parties. This time around, the odds of the _Viridian Wind's_ survival were even more dismal.

Gwen flipped out the railgun's sights – a simple crosshairs scope with mild magnification capability. There was a ball of nerves settling into her stomach – truth be told, although she'd designed and alchemized this railgun herself, Gwen had no idea if it was going to work. She had been working purely from theory, not experience. The only way to find out was going to be via live test.

Gwen was tempted to open fire immediately, but she was not quite sure what the range on her weapon was. Furthermore, the likelihood that she would miss her target was, at this distance, rather substantial. Better to wait a few minutes.

Nothon continued to sound the Cadence. Although everyone had gotten themselves situated on the top-deck, Gwen knew the gun crews below were still hauling the cannons into position.

Another shudder up the spine.

Even just _thinking_ about the gun crews was enough to make Gwen nauseous – memories of the previous encounter with the marauders had not, by any means, vanished. The claustrophobic gun decks, awash with blood and urine, choked with smoke and gunpowder residue. The flying shards of splintered wood. And the screams. God, the screams…

Gwen took a deep breath, shaking her head in a semi-successful attempt to clear it.

The cry came from below. "_Gun decks ready!_" It was Tycho, the foulmouthed Master Gunner.

"Aye, Master Gunner, fire on my command!" the Captain roared in response.

The three marauder ships drew close, coming within two hundred yards.

Close enough for the railgun? Only one way to find out.

"Permission to open fire, Captain?" Gwen hollered back to the quarterdeck.

"Granted, Witch! Blow 'em to hell!"

Gwen peered through the crosshairs, aiming for the lead marauder ship's mainmast. She started to squeeze the trigger, but halted at the last moment. The _Viridian Wind_ had crested a tall wave, throwing off Gwen's aim. She took another deep breath and reacquired her target. Before she could lose it a second time, Gwen squeezed the trigger.

The railgun's quiet hum grew loud for a brief moment while the magnetic coils amplified their charge. The pressurized pyroshot round was drawn forward and accelerated by the omnicrystal-powered magnetic charge, exiting the railgun at speeds close to Mach One. A bit tame for your average railgun, yet still nothing to turn one's nose up at.

Fortunately, the _BOOM_ was not loud enough to burst Gwen's eardrums. That being said, it was still pretty damn _loud._ Enough to make her ears ring like tuning forks.

The explosion caused by the railgun was even louder. The shell struck the marauder ship's mainmast, just as Gwen intended, resulting in a spectacular conflagration of deep red fire. The entire mainmast of the marauder ship was instantly reduced to splinters – it might as well have been a toothpick trying to stand up to a shotgun blast. A huge chunk of the marauder ship's deck had been gouged out, flames eating away at the edges.

Gwen could see dozens of dead marauders scattered about the deck of the enemy ship. Still, there were dozens more who were very much alive. If anything, their bloodlust had only increased. They gnashed their teeth, howling with rage, shaking their weapons, baring their teeth and claws at the corsairs.

The corsairs were shouting, too, though not in response to the marauders' vulgar displays. They had just received rather a shock, rocked to the core by the devastating display of firepower shown to them by Gwen's railgun. They had never seen the likes of it before.

"_Skaia's Light, boys, look at 'em burning shitwads!_" Inaros, one of the younger crewmembers, was shouting.

"_Never seen anything like that, before…_"

"_Could probably sink the bastards with a second shot!_"

"_Gods above…_"

This went on for less than five seconds before Nothon screamed at the crew to shut the hell up.

"Again, Witch!" the Captain yelled. "Hit them again!"

Gwen was all too happy to oblige. She opened up the railgun chamber once more, retrieved another shell from her sylladex, and slotted it into place. After sealing the chamber, Gwen used the crosshairs to take aim a second time. "Firing!" she exclaimed. "Plug your ears!"

When Gwen squeezed the trigger, she received a surprise in the form of a nasty shock. The railgun seemed to do something akin to blowing a fuse, overloading with energy and shooting cyan sparks. The surge of energy reacted less than favorably with Gwen's body, blasting her back across the deck. Her feet left the ground and she flew through the air, slamming painfully into the starboard rail.

* * *

><p>Gwen must have lost consciousness for several minutes. She deduced this because when she opened her eyes, it was not to the soft yellow morning sky, but rather to an uncomfortably close-up view of canvas fabric. Someone had thrown a tarp over her.<p>

Throwing the canvas tarp off, Gwen blinked several times, regaining her bearings. She was in the captain's cabin. More blinking. The confusion clouding her mind lifted slightly. There were sounds of fighting raging just beyond the doors – clashing metal, sharp reports from pistols, and more screams…

The marauders must have boarded.

For a few moments, Gwen was sorely tempted to cover herself back up with the canvas tarp and curl into a tight ball. She knew, however, that this would only result in death. A slow, horrific, painful death by skinning.

Gwen stood up and made her way outside. The first sight to greet her upon leaving the captain's cabin was the Captain himself. He was slumped against the cabin doors, blood flowing freely down his body, staining his clothes, his shell. The Captain's head was nowhere to be found.

Gwen needed only a few moments to take in what was happening and make her own deductions.

The corsairs had not been idle while she was unconscious – one of the marauder ships was on fire and in the process of sinking beneath the emerald waves. The second ship was dead in the water, more or less – this was the ship whose mainmast Gwen had managed to destroy. The marauders on this ship had only just started to begin rowing towards the _Viridian Wind_. They would arrive within minutes.

The third ship was drawn up right along the _Viridian Wind's_ starboard side. Even now, marauders were swinging reinforcements onto the corsair ship. The fight to hold the _Viridian Wind_ was devolving rapidly into another chaotic, frenzied melee.

Aristophanes, in command after the Captain's demise, was doing his best to salvage the situation. Though if the remaining marauder ship managed to reach the _Viridian Wind,_ his best would not be good enough. Presently, the one-eyed turtle-consort was mired in combat against a particularly brutish ogre. This ogre was armed with two wickedly-sharp scimitars, and it was taking all of Aristophanes's skill to keep those scimitars at bay.

The former first mate caught sight of Gwen stumbling out of the captain's cabin and immediately called out to her. "_What the hell happened with your design?_"

Gwen stared blankly at Aristophanes for half a second. An imp, who must have been climbing about the rigging, landed on the deck right in front of Gwen, shocking her out of her daze. The imp hissed, baring its claws, readying itself to pounce. Gwen had less than a second. She accessed her strife specibus and recovered her Walther, quickly took aim, shot the imp between the eyes just as it was leaping into the air. Then she looked back over to Aristophanes. "It broke!" she shouted back.

Aristophanes drew his scaly lips back in a snarl, landing a powerful kick square in the ogre's chest, throwing it off balance. He then followed up with a lightning-fast stroke of his sword, neatly opening the ogre's throat. It collapsed to its knees, choking on its own blood.

He was then free to roar, "_What do you mean it broke?!_" back to Gwen.

"I mean the damn thing nearly blew up in my face! It fucking broke!"

"_You're the Witch of Light, girl! Fix it!_"

Before Gwen could reply, she was set upon by another imp. Rather than shoot it, Gwen leaped into action. She sidestepped the charging marauder and sprinted right into the fray. She had to duck and dodge her way through the melee, stepping over sprawled bodies of consorts and underlings alike. Twice, she nearly slipped on pools of blood.

It was a miracle in of itself that Gwen was able to reach the railgun without losing any body parts.

The weapon was no longer humming with energy. Gwen knelt down and opened up the railgun's insides. Surprisingly enough, the innards of the weapon were more or less intact. The omnicrystal shard power source was still in place, as were the magnetic coils. For this, Gwen silently thanked whatever god or gods, if any, who happened to be listening in.

It was the wires that had been fried.

Gwen suppressed the urge to smack herself in the forehead. Idiot. Stupid.

She had not considered the possibility that her wires might not be able to handle the raw power of omnicrystal energy. They seemed to have been able to handle the first shot well enough, but the second shot had blown them out. There was too much of a residual charge after the first shot – she hadn't waited long enough for that charge to fully disperse.

This left Gwen no choice but to rewire the railgun.

She retrieved her coil of wires from the sylladex, along with the wire snips. After ripping out the ruined ones, Gwen went about rewiring the railgun, her mouth set in a hard, determined line. She continued to ignore the fighting that was happening all around her – it was too distracting, and she needed to focus.

Gwen never felt the bite of imp teeth sinking into her neck, so she assumed there was a corsair or two watching her back.

Half a minute later, Gwen had the railgun rewired. She brought it back online and swiveled it around to starboard. She slipped her finger into the trigger guard. Before Gwen could open fire, however, she was interrupted by a hoarse shout from behind.

"The powder magazine, Witch!" It was Aristophanes. He was the one who had been keeping the marauders off Gwen's back, having carved his own path through the fighting. "The fools left their powder on the deck! Hit those barrels! _Hit them now!_"

Gwen peeked up from the crosshairs, taking a moment to sweep her gaze across the rotting deck of the marauder ship. She quickly spotted the stack of heavy black barrels to which Aristophanes was referring, piled against the mizzenmast. "_Got you,_" Gwen crowed triumphantly, adjusting her aim and firing.

The detonation of the pressurized Greek fire combined with the exploding gunpowder was nearly enough to rend the marauder ship in two. The _BOOM_ rippled across the waves, echoing off the shoals to the south. Chunks of wooden debris and bloodied bits of ripped-up underling corpse started to rain gently from the sky.

An arm that had once belonged to an ogre struck Gwen on the shoulder, leaving a bloodstain on her shirt. She gagged, concentrating for a moment to keep the nausea in her stomach from turning into fully-fledged projectile vomit. A pang of disappointment tugged at her chest – she'd _liked_ that shirt…

"_Black sails to the north!_" the lookout screamed down from the crow's nest. "_There's more of 'em comin' right at us!_"

Aristophanes swore several of the blackest oaths he knew. And after peering through his spyglass in the direction indicated by the lookout, he swore a few more. Sure enough, three more black ships had appeared on the horizon off the starboard aft, moving in pursuit of the corsair vessel.

Aristophanes wondered for a moment just how the marauders were able to sniff out prey so well. His silent question was answered when he lowered his spyglass – the smoke from the two burning marauder ships had already risen high into the air. It must have been acting like a beacon.

No matter. The _Viridian Wind_ had one thing in her favor, if not numbers: the weather.

"Lower the sails!" Aristophanes ordered. He was briefly interrupted by a charging imp. The former first mate merely held his ground and pointed his rapier forward, allowing the imp to skewer itself through the neck. He placed a boot on the twitching underling's corpse and nudged it off his blade. He turned his attention upwards once more. "_Get the vermin out of the rigging and lower the bloody sails!_"

The former first mate's plan was obvious to Gwen. He intended to make for the mist up ahead. Disappear before the marauder reinforcements could enter the equation. It was the _Viridian Wind's_ only shot at survival.

Luckily enough, not too many of the marauders had made their way into the rigging. One by one, those who had managed to do so were knocked back down to the deck by the sharpshooters stationed on the high platforms. Once this was done, the sharpshooters put down their rifles and crawled out onto the booms, unfurling the sails to their fullest extent.

The sails ballooned out as the gentle wind filled them, propelling the _Viridian Wind_ past the burning husk of the black ship whose powder magazine Gwen had detonated.

As the mist drew near, Gwen abandoned the railgun and made her way across the deck, assisting the corsairs in dispatching the remaining boarders. By this point, most of the marauders had been killed, yet there were still a few stubbornly clinging to life, taking chunks out of any who came too close.

The corsairs wised up real fast. They backed off and slaughtered the remaining marauders with pistol shot.

Gwen's Walther came in great handy for this grim task.

At long last, after the final marauder fell, the _Viridian Wind_ was silent. Silence promptly shattered by cheering. Over two-hundred voices contributed to the cheering – some jeered and hurled insults at the remaining marauder ship, some praised Skaia for their good fortune, and others merely wailed.

The gray mist enveloped the _Viridian Wind,_ obscuring it from the view of the three pursuing marauder ships.

Aristophanes sagged against the nearest rail, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. He was exhausted. Once he'd regained his breath, he sheathed his sword and sought out Nothon. The old bosun was up towards the bow, organizing a group of younger crewmembers to start tipping the bodies of dead marauders overboard.

Nothon straightened up, nodding in deference to Aristophanes. "I hear the Cap'n went an' lost 'is head."

"Afraid so," Aristophanes replied. "Beheaded from behind by one of the ogres."

Nothon grunted, hocking up a ball of phlegm and spitting it over the rail. "Quick death, that. Quick death. Lucky shit, that Cap'n, lucky shit he was, dyin' such a quick death."

"No. Were he a lucky shit, he would still possess a head," Aristophanes muttered. "What's the butcher's bill, Nothon?"

"Six dead, fifteen wounded," Nothon replied. Then he hesitated, quickly adding, "Well, make that seven dead, includin' the former Cap'n."

"A light bill," Aristophanes remarked. Usually the death toll from a brush with the marauders was much higher. Still, the meager silver lining did little to alleviate the sour taste in the former first mate's mouth.

"Permission to speak, sir," Nothon rumbled.

"Granted."

"Does the Witch know what the hell she's doin'?"

Aristophanes gave the bosun a sharp glance. "Yes, Nothon, she does." The former first mate might have left it at that, but something impelled him to press the issue. "What spurs the lack of faith?"

"No lack o' faith on me own part, sir," Nothon answered. "I believe in the old myths, same as you. All the same… It's folly to sail past the Gray Shoals, sir, downright folly it is… Some o' the lads are beginnin' to grumble. They see the cap'n's death as a right bad omen, they do. If we rack up too many more butcher's bills without leavin' these shoals behind, we might bloody well lose the crew. You know as well as I, sir, a mutiny in these particular waters means death for all concerned."

Aristophanes was quiet, watching Gwen help out with the cleanup while Nothon spoke. When the bosun was finished, the former first mate gave a single nod. "You speak the truth, bosun. Consider your truths heard. Now see to the dead – we'll send them to the deeps once repairs are underway."

Nothon touched a fist to his forehead, turning away and leaving the quarterdeck.

Aristophanes drummed his fingers against the starboard rail, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. He exhaled, watching the mist directly in front of his face swirl and eddy in reaction to the released breath.

He left the rail and descended one of the flights of stairs connecting the quarterdeck to the main deck below. He stepped over the headless corpse of the deceased skipper and walked into the captain's cabin. _His_ cabin, now.

Sitting in one of the desk drawers was a dusty old bottle of rum. The old captain would only sip from it after surviving a battle. Aristophanes held the bottle up to eye-level, watching the brownish-red liquid slosh around in endless circles, never again to be sipped by its previous owner.

"To you, old friend." Aristophanes raised the bottle to the deceased captain. He unstoppered the bottle, brought it to his lips...yet hesitated before taking a drink.

Coming to a decision, the new captain of the _Viridian Wind_ replaced the cork and put the bottle back and closed the drawer, hiding it away.


	78. VI Chapter 78: Integration

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Integration

I was standing in front of an old plantation house.

Between myself and the house was a large, open front lawn of unkempt golden grass. Dandelions and wishers protruded from the grass, alongside violets and tulips.

A luminous willow tree grew in the middle of the front lawn. The trunk glowed a rich malachite hue, the leaves a soft silver light. A gentle breeze disturbed the stillness of the willow tree, causing its silver leaves to dance ethereally around the puffs of wind, light and silent as snowflakes.

Strangely enough, everything was bathed in sunlight. I call this strange because the sky was currently midnight black. Stars winked at us from above. Millions of stars, shining all colors of the rainbow. When I looked at them for a long enough time, I began to track their subtle crawl across the sky.

More of my surroundings eased into view.

The plantation house's grounds were surrounded on all sides by a dense forest of glowing willow trees, identical in species to the one growing on the front lawn. The strange sunlight, unsurprisingly, was not actually sunlight - it was the collective light generated by the bioluminescence of all those willow trees.

I walked forward towards the house. A white light radiated behind the entrance door.

With light and fleeting footsteps, I stole across the lawn. I felt almost weightless, drifting through the air. I stepped up onto the front porch of the plantation house. The front steps wobbled as I climbed them, causing me to bounce up and down. Oddly enough, they felt spongy.

I had a sudden urge to know what time it was, so I took out my phone and checked the clock. The numbers were wavering, almost as if they were underwater. I had to squint to get a good look at them. Before I could make out the time, the numbers peeled away from my phone and floated up into the sky.

The front door swung open at the lightest touch.

I stepped inside. There was a black-and-gray cat lounging on a table to my left. The cat licked its fur, giving itself a much-needed cleaning. It looked up from its grooming for a moment, appraising me. Then it seemed to shrug, returning to its grooming, paying me no further attention.

The white light I'd seen outside appeared to be emanating from the crystal chandelier hanging in the front hall. The chandelier was enormous – at least six feet in diameter. It occupied most of the upper space of the hall. For some reason, its light was flickering.

I flipped the chandelier's light switch. Nothing happened. None of the light switches worked.

The chandelier suddenly went dark. I was left in the shadows for a moment, wondering what had happened to the light. Then there was a deafening crash, an avalanche of shattering glass. Hidden fluorescent tube lights flickered on, illuminating the front hall once more. The chandelier rested in about a million pieces on the floor of the front hall.

"_Causing a mess, Adam?_" The voice was deep and clear, layered with a faint Eastern European lilt. I recognized the voice, somehow, despite having never met its owner.

Violin music drifted down from the top of the stairs.

Someone had appeared.

The violinist was a young man in his late twenties - close to my sister's age. He had unruly black hair and pale green eyes. As he played his violin – a slow, mournful tune – he wore an expression of bliss. This expression, more than anything else, tipped me off to the violinist's identity.

"Are you Tami's brother?" I asked.

The young violinist smiled. "Call me Tash."

"What are you doing here, Tash?"

Tash shrugged, continuing to play his violin. "Your dream, Adam. You tell me."

"Dream?" I blinked once. For a moment I was surprised, but the moment quickly passed.

Of course this was a dream.

"Okay, then, I'm dreaming." I began to levitate, hovering about an inch off the floor. "Been a while since I've had a lucid dream. Are you really Tash?"

Tash shrugged a second time. "Maybe? Then again, maybe I'm a thoughtform generated by your unconscious mind as part of this dream. Either way, you're still dreaming and I'm still talking to you. We both exist."

"_Dreaming_…" I murmured. Doubt gripped my chest as I tried to remember how I got here. I must've fallen asleep, at some point, but when? "I'm not dead, am I?" I asked my third question.

Tash shook his head. "No, you're not dead. Just in a coma."

"Coma?" My eyes narrowed. Flashes of memory tugged at my mind. There was a vision of a sky filled with laser bolts. Gradually, I remembered. "Tyrene. Right. That happened. Fuck. Um… Any idea how long it'll last?"

"It'll last until you wake yourself up."

I groaned quietly, massaging my temples. A mild ache was dancing about my head. Perhaps there is a good reason why we don't usually remember our waking lives when we dream. It can be dizzying to keep track of two worlds at once.

Tash changed his tune to a playful melody that, surprisingly enough, I recognized as the opening music to _Fiddler on the Roof_. I listened to the violin, smiling. I had performed in this musical, once upon a time, and the soundtrack was very familiar. I levitated up to Tash's level, floating over the broken glass and onto the railing of the stairs, joining Tami's brother on the upper floor.

"Mind if we go someplace else?" I asked, stepping down onto solid ground.

"Not at all," Tash replied. "Go ahead and visualize a door."

"Two steps ahead of you." I gestured to the wall behind Tash, which now sported a small, ornate oaken door.

Tash gave a grunt of surprise in reaction to the door's sudden appearance. "Didn't even see you put that there." He lowered his violin and gave a low whistle, running his fingers over the intricate carving on the door's panels. "Nice attention to detail. You're a natural."

"I've dreamed a lot." I took hold of the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open. I stepped through the portal onto fine white sand.

There was a gentle breeze which carried the smell of salt. Waves lapped against the edges of the beach. The water was remarkably clear – I could spot the fringes of a vast coral reef further on out. There were a few large fluffy clouds drifting lazily across the sky, but they did not obscure the sun. I started sweating, prompting me to seek shade.

I took shelter underneath a palm tree.

At the top of the palm tree, nestled within the juncture of the palm fronds and the tree trunk, was a cluster of coconuts. My stomach growled. I started climbing the tree, reaching the top within seconds. I plucked out one of the coconuts. I used the Force Aspect to drill a hole into the coconut's shell.

I raised the coconut to my lips and tilted my head back, allowing the milk to pour straight into my mouth. It was one of the sweetest things I ever tasted.

"Watcha doin' up there?" Tash called up to me from below.

_Tash_. Crap, I'd nearly forgotten about him. Memory was wonky here.

"Got distracted," I replied, sliding down the tree.

"You started losing consciousness," Tash observed. "You'll want to be careful of that."

"Why?"

"Because there's a window of opportunity approaching. When it arrives, you'll be able to wake yourself up. You won't do this if you lose consciousness."

"Will I die if I miss the window?"

A third shrug from Tash. "Probably. You were in pretty bad shape when you came into this coma. It'll take some work on your part to bring yourself out of it. By the way, what's that noise?"

"Huh?" I was caught off guard by the sudden change of topic.

"What's that noise?" Tash repeated himself, his head cocked slightly to one side. "Listen."

I blinked as my lucidity expanded ever so slightly.

It was a faint sound, carried by the breeze alongside the scent of the ocean. It was the sound of screaming. I decided to start walking in that direction. Tash fell into step beside me. As we neared the source of all the noise, I could tell that we were hearing hundreds, perhaps even thousands of voices.

The forest of coconut trees slid right on by.

I gazed deeper into the woods while we walked. As I watched, several of the trees shuddered and uprooted themselves, floating up into the sky. Droplets of red light trailed from the dangling roots of the floating trees. As more droplets fell, they gathered into pools. Slowly from each pool of red light rose a budding lotus flower glowing with an aura of violet.

The stems of the lotus flowers shimmered with a mesmerizing rainbow haze, but the buds remained a powerful violet. As they began to open, a blinding white light burst from the myriad petals of the lotus flowers. The pools of red light began to shrink as they were absorbed by the flowering lotuses, and I noticed the smell of burning sage.

I took a step towards the strange lotus flowers, followed closely by another. There was no third step, however, because upon taking the second step I realized that they were the first steps I'd taken in a little while.

I no longer tasted any coconut. How long have I been standing here?

"Difficult to say," Tash replied to my thought. He was now sitting cross-legged on the ground, resting against one of the trees. In his lap was a giant carton of flavor-blasted goldfish. He was happily nomming. "Time exists in a dream, but it works differently. Think cyclical as opposed to linear. Much more flexible."

"I got distracted, again."

"Dreams tend to do that." Tash nodded in agreement. "Whoever said staying lucid was easy? This won't be the last time you're distracted. What matters is how good you are at bringing yourself back."

"Bringing myself back…" I murmured. "Dunno if I'm good at that, or not, but I know I'm experienced."

"Usually that means you're good at it."

The forest of coconut trees continued to slide on by.

When we emerged from the woods, I was startled by what lay beyond.

Looming over the coconut tree forest was a mountain. The smell of the sea was smothered by the pungent, metallic stench of spilled blood. Smoke curled into the sky from the ruins of the fort built into the mountainside. Corpses littered the slopes approaching the fort. Dead snakes. Cobras, to be precise. My consorts. Northerners, by the looks of them.

Something deeper within my mind sparked.

_Mount Lonesome_.

"What?" Tash arched an eyebrow.

"Mount Lonesome," I said. "That's the name of this mountain. I fought a battle here."

There was an army of Northerners charging up the mountainside towards the Dersite fort. They were getting torn apart by the Dersite defenders' superior weapons. Consorts were falling left and right, riddled with laser burns. The screaming continued.

Tash started munching on another handful of goldfish. "Messy," he remarked, watching the consorts die on the mountainside.

"Very messy," I agreed. "Do I have to join in?"

Tash shrugged. "Your choice. Goldfish?" He held out the carton.

I reached into the carton and grabbed a small handful. "Gimme a sec," I said to Tash. I levitated myself into the air, flying towards Mount Lonesome. I looked down as I neared my beleaguered consorts. I remembered this battle in vivid detail – the frenzied, desperate push up the mountainside, and the exhaustion from maintaining the protective force field.

I had no desire to repeat history, here. Rather than join the Northerners, I flew right past them, straight up to the Dersite fort. I'd finished all my goldfish by the time I made it up the mountainside. I brushed the cheese dust from my fingers and landed on the fort's walls.

"Go home, guys!" I said to the Dersite soldiers on the walls. They stopped shooting at the consorts, regarding me with expressions of confusion. I persisted. "Go home! Battle's over! Shoo!"

The Dersite soldiers traded glances with one another. Then they all gave a collective shrug and dropped their weapons, casually strolling away from their posts. The entire fort fell silent. The consorts, no longer under fire, stopped their charge. They milled about the mountainside in confusion for a few seconds before they, too, turned around and left the battlefield.

After a few seconds of quiescence, birdsong slowly started to fill the silence. I spotted birds with vibrant red feathers flitting about the ruins of the fort. Cardinals.

Tash was patiently waiting for me at the bottom of the mountain. "Nice," he remarked. "I don't suppose that's how the battle actually went?"

"Not exactly," I replied.

"How about that battle over there?" Tash pointed behind us.

I turned around, my gaze following the direction of Tash's index finger. The forest of coconut trees had vanished. It was replaced by plains of bristling yellow-green grass. The earth underneath the grass was colored a familiar chessboard pattern of black and white squares. Each individual color patch was multiple square miles in size.

Vast walls of white stone rose in the near distance, looming over the surrounding plains. The walls had turrets at regular intervals. There were a few towers within that were tall enough to peek over the walls, though they were dwarfed in size when compared to the compound's central citadel – a gigantic marble fortress with four turrets sprouting from each side.

_The White Keep_.

Yes. The White Keep. I was looking at the White Keep – that's why it looked so familiar.

The White Keep was on fire. Several of the turrets on the outer walls had crumbled. Banners of gold and white hung limp from the battlements, many of them charred and in tatters. The outer walls were burned, ravaged, and filled with pockmarks, but they appeared to have held against the severe beating they had taken. Or so I initially thought.

The outer gate, as it turned out, had not fared so well. I arrived at this conclusion upon observing the jagged, gaping rend in the outer walls where the outer gate had once stood. The entire gatehouse was gone, and there were not many large chunks of debris lying around. Just small fragments and chunks of masonry. The gatehouse had not simply collapsed with the destruction of the gate – somehow, it had been blown to pieces.

The sight sent a shudder up my spine.

I did _not_ want to meet whatever was strong enough to deal damage on that scale.

I could not see any corpses, nor was there any fighting going on. In fact, the White Keep was eerily silent. I think the silence unnerved me more than the screaming from Mount Lonesome.

"I don't know," I answered Tash. "I don't remember this one."

"No?"

"No. What do you think took down the gates?" I asked.

"Nothing I want to meet." Tash accentuated that thought with a loud _crunch,_ popping another handful of goldfish into his mouth. "Probably the Black King. The monarchs are supposed to pack quite a punch when they're prototyped."

"Wanna check it out?"

Tash merely shrugged again. "Your choice."

I made the choice. "C'mon, let's go check it out." I floated into the air and flew across the plains, arriving at the ruined outer walls of the White Keep in no time at all. Tash followed behind, moving at his own pace.

The smell on the wind grew acrid as I drew near to all the smoke. Bits of ash were falling gently from the sky like black snow. Much to my surprise, there was someone sitting cross-legged in the midst of the wreckage of the outer gate. He held his head in his hands and appeared as if he were weeping, though he made no sound.

It was Gino.

The moment I recognized Gino, he perked up and looked over at us. His eyes were completely white. "Hey Tash," he murmured, his voice quiet and subdued. Unusual for him. "Hey Adam."

"Hey Gino," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," Gino replied, blinking slowly. "I guess I died. Am I in hell? Is this hell?"

It sure looked like it.

"No, this isn't hell," I told him. What was I supposed to say to that? _Yes, Dead Sir, you are indeed in hell!_ Gino would've had a meltdown.

"_Adam._" Gino's hand shot forward abruptly, catching my wrist in a grip of steel. He fixed me with his blank gaze of white, his face devoid of any expression. Also unusual for him. "The Outer Gods. They're coming. You're all gonna die." Gino's body then proceeded to disintegrate into ash, quickly snatched away by the breeze. Within seconds, he was gone and I was left staring at the ground.

"Well." I clicked my tongue a few times, not quite sure what to make of this. "That was fucked up. That was incredibly fucked up. Tash? Your thoughts on how incredibly fucked up that was?"

Tash gave another shrug. "He's having a bad day. He'll have help soon, though. You don't need to worry."

"If you say so…" I muttered.

Not wanting to linger around the breach in the outer walls, I wandered into the small city beyond, making my way towards the White Keep's citadel. Few of the dwellings were intact. The entire place had been razed in the fighting. I think it was a miracle the citadel was still standing.

The citadel gates, much like the outer gates, no longer existed. Something had caved them in. The entrance hall beyond was lit by torches that, somehow, still burned from their fixtures on the walls. The firelight filled the space with dancing shadows. I stepped inside, walking slowly down the middle of the hall.

I reached the double doors that opened up into the White King's library, taking hold of the handles. Before I could pull them open, however, I was interrupted from behind by a familiar voice.

"Careful, Knight," said the familiar voice. "You might not like what you'll find on the other side. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed."

I turned around and nearly puked all over my shoes. The White King himself had appeared. He was the one who was speaking. But he was… He… His head was… The White King's neck ended in a ragged, bloody stump. He was holding his own head, and it was his head that was speaking to me.

"Jesus H. Fucknuggets, what the hell happened to you?" I asked the King.

"It was my choice," the White King's head replied. Then he, too, crumbled into ash. Gone.

I looked over at Tash, who raised an eyebrow at me. "What are you looking at me for?" he queried.

"Should I open the door?"

"Your choice."

"Dude. Repeating the same phrase over and over again is not helping."

Tash gave me the latest addition to an extensive series of shrugs. "Truth is truth. I won't make a choice for you – when something painful happens, you'd be more likely to blame me rather than start choosing for yourself. And you're playing Sburb, which means something painful happens at least once every fifteen minutes."

"Will going through this door help me wake up?"

Rather than give another of his damned shrugs, Tash actually smiled at me. "Yes, it might."

That was all I needed. I pushed open the double doors, which were much lighter in my dream than they were in real life. Waiting for me on the other side of the doors was not the White King's throne room-turned-library. Instead, I was looking at a huge mirror, one that filled the entire space.

My body was all wrong. I was made out of red light. I had wings and feathers. My fingers had become talons. My lower body tapered off into wisp. My legs were gone. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

I was repulsive.

I summoned the Force Aspect and shattered the mirror. Unfortunately, my dreamscape shattered along with it. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, floor, and ceiling. My surroundings fizzled away in little trails of light, leaving behind only inky black space.

I drifted through this void for a little while. There was no sound or light, nothing beyond my own breathing and heartbeat. For what felt like the first time in a very long while, I was completely alone. But then there was a glimmer in the darkness. And then another glimmer. And another.

Stars gradually came into view, giving me some measure of company in the darkness. As more of them appeared, I felt a warmth emanating from behind me. I spun myself around. Earth came into view. Yes, as in Planet Earth. I was floating in outer space looking at the Earth. There were storms ravaging its surface, visible even from my current vantage point.

Points of white light started rising from the storms. At first they rose in clumps of a dozen or so, but as the storms intensified the points of light began leaving the Earth in droves. Hundreds of thousands, millions, perhaps even _billions_ of white lights - all streaming away from Earth. It was like watching bioluminescent algae flow down a gentle river.

After a few minutes, the streams of light ceased. The storms stopped soon after.

One of the streams of light flowed past me, not too far away. I willed myself forward in that direction. As I neared the moving points of light, the stars blurred and the blackness of space started to lighten. By the time I reached the stream, everything had gone completely white. I was no longer even moving. I was standing on white light, surrounded by white light.

The warmth felt like I was sitting in front of a fireplace.

Actually, I _was_ sitting in front of a fireplace. The moment the thought passed through my mind, a brick fireplace popped into existence. Logs, fire, and all. I sat down cross-legged and held my hands out to the fire's warmth. I was relieved to see that my hands were human once more. I had fingers, not talons.

_Fingers. Not talons_.

"Marshmallow?" Tash offered me a stick with a marshmallow impaled on the tip.

Wait a hot second. When the hell did Tash get here?

Tash started to shrug, then stopped himself and said, "I don't know. I had to catch up with you after you broke the mirror. Marshmallow?"

"Sure." I accepted the stick and held the marshmallow end out to the fireplace. I kept it low, beneath most of the flames and towards the glowing red embers. The embers were the best place to toast marshmallows – that was where most of the fire's heat was concentrated. I managed to get the marshmallow a rich golden-brown in a single revolution.

The trick to getting golden-brown marshmallows was to find that Goldilocks zone that was neither too close nor too far from the embers. Then turn the marshmallow slowly. The fewer turns you take, the better. Unless you're one of those heathens who like to burn their marshmallows. If that's the case, I'm sorry to inform you that you're madder than I am.

I plucked the marshmallow from the end of the stick and popped it into my mouth, closing my eyes to help me savor the taste. I hadn't toasted marshmallows since my time among the Alabaster Rifles, following the destruction of the King's Airfield. It's been a while.

"Is my window here yet?" I spoke up after I chewed and swallowed. "Much as I'm enjoying our time, Tash, I think it's time for me to wake up."

"I agree," said Tash. "Your window is close, but not quite here. You haven't fully integrated yourself, yet."

I made a face. "Say what?"

"You haven't fully integrated yourself," Tash patiently repeated. "There is a huge part of yourself that you're in denial over. The psychological fragmentation is keeping you asleep. You need unity."

"What part of myself?" I asked.

"You already know."

"No I don't."

"Why did you break the mirror, Adam?"

"Because it had my body all wrong."

"Did it?" Tash's question was not accusatory in the slightest, yet still it pierced through to the center of my mind, leaving a faint ringing in my ears. The dreamscape started flickering. The fireplace winked in and out of existence several times, and the warm feeling in the air started to quiver and pulsate.

Then the fireplace completely vanished and omnipresent white light subsided.

I was now standing on the summit of a mountain. The sky was the purest unbroken blue. Not a cloud to be seen. The gentle breeze, which had accompanied me since the beginning, strengthened to a constant gust. I spread my arms out wide, allowing the wind to pass unhindered around every surface of my body. This gave me a sort of 'clean' feeling.

"Your window is here," Tash announced, pointing up to the sky.

Sure enough, floating high up in the air, dozens of feet up from the summit of this mountain, was what I recognized as a fenestrated window. A giant fenestrated window. I started to levitate, climbing higher and higher into the sky, reaching out for the window. Much to my surprise, the window itself was not solid – my hand went right through the glassy surface.

When my hand passed through, however… My stomach twisted and heaved. My fingers were morphing back into talons, feathers were beginning to sprout from my wrist and forearm…

I yanked my hand out of the window and backed down. I sank down, down, all the way back down to the summit of the mountain. When I made landfall, Tash was gone. I looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was alone once again. The mountain gradually started to flicker. My breathing increased almost to the rate of hyperventilation as panic set in.

The fenestrated window wobbled in the air a little bit. Then it started to rise, moving further and further away. My window of opportunity was passing me by. I tried to float up after it, only to discover that I could no longer fly. No matter how hard I tried to levitate, I could not get myself up off the ground.

My panic worsened. Was I ever going to wake up?

I steadied myself on a nearby boulder, focusing on my breathing. I took deeper, longer breaths, establishing a stable rhythm of inhale and exhale. I looked down from the sky, allowing my vision to relax while I concentrated on breathing. The wind felt good on my face.

As I calmed down, I took a moment to look around, take in more of the current dreamscape.

There were many other mountains surrounding this one. I was in the middle of a vast, snowy mountain range. They were jagged peaks. Harsh and unforgiving. Dark green forests grew along the foothills far below, extending up the lower slopes of all the mountains until they hit the treeline. There was nothing up here but rock, snow, and little white flowers.

I grunted in surprise. I hadn't noticed the little white flowers until now. I crouched down and picked one, holding it up to my nose. The scent reminded me of fresh laundry. A familiar tune swam its way into my awareness and I started to sing quietly. "_Edelweiss… Edelweiss… Every morning you greet me..._"

Before I could continue any further, I was interrupted by a piercing avian screech. A shadow blanketed the summit of my mountain. This was my only warning, my only chance to dive for cover before a giant eagle swooped out of the sky, its claws swiping through the air where I'd just a moment ago been standing.

I ducked behind the boulder. Shit. That eagle was fucking _massive_. Probably big enough for me to ride.

The eagle overshot the boulder, flying out into the open sky beyond the mountain summit. As it wheeled around for another pass I tensed to dive out of the way a second time.

But then something gave me pause.

I looked straight up. The fenestrated window was still visible, but barely. It was a shrinking dot, at this point, growing smaller and smaller as it moved farther away. Soon it would be gone completely.

That's what did it. Looking up, seeing my window fading away…it awakened a fiery sense of resolve that hummed within my upper abdomen. My center of gravity. I stepped out from behind the boulder and planted my feet wide, standing up straight. The eagle screeched again and thundered towards me, but I stood my ground. Defiant.

I am dreaming. This is a dream. The eagle cannot hurt me.

_The eagle cannot hurt me_.

The eagle flew right up to me and screeched directly into my face, actually managing to blow my hair back. But it had stopped. It did not use its claws, nor did it attack with its beak. It merely hovered there, staring into my eyes.

Eagles are not sentient creatures. All the same… As I looked into the eagle's eyes, I could see the intelligence. And the fear. The poor thing was terrified.

I took a chance and slowly raised my hand, reached out towards the eagle. I touched its face. The eagle flinched, but did not screech, nor did it flee. It continued to hover there. I caressed the eagle's neck feathers, careful not to ruffle any of them. The eagle settled down, landing on its feet, folding its wings. Its eyes slid shut. I continued to stroke its feathers.

A low hum came from deep within the eagle's chest. A cooing. Then the moment passed and the eagle's eyes shot back open. It turned away from me and sat down. I stood still, unsure of what to do next. But in a moment, it all became clear. The eagle turned its head back to face me and flared its wings, as if it were gesturing for me to hop on.

I glanced up at the nearly-vanished window, then back at the eagle. I must be going crazy. But sometimes that's okay. "Okay, then...here goes nothing." I climbed onto the eagle's back, barely having enough time to wrap my arms around its neck before it took off, launching itself into the sky. Several powerful wingbeats later, the eagle and I were shooting straight up after the retreating window.

The window was moving away fast, but the eagle was faster.

I buried my head in the eagle's neck feathers and closed my eyes before we hit the glass.


	79. VI Chapter 79: Headache

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Headache

My eyes flew open and I bolted upright.

Jesus, I just had the craziest dream…

I blinked twice, and my vision refocused. I was lying on a feather mattress. On a rocky floor. In what appeared to be a cave. Oil lamps hung from the stalactites, providing most of the light. Were it not for those lamps, everything would be pitch dark. The cave was a small and spherical chamber – roughly twenty or so feet in diameter.

I was not alone. There were five Dwarves sharing this chamber with me. They were all unconscious, resting in cots of their own.

There was a healer tending to the other wounded. She noticed me sitting up and hurried to my side. "You must not exert yourself," she kept saying. "Please remain in bed."

I looked her square in the eye and told her, "Nope."

And that was that.

I floated up from the bed and brushed past the nurse, exiting the small cave. I drifted into a dimly-lit tunnel. There were other small caverns branching off from this tunnel – several of them were illuminated by oil lamps, but not all. This particular sub-system of caves appeared to be serving as an infirmary.

Where the fuck am I? These tunnels and caverns seemed familiar. But unless we were underneath Mount Goldmont, there was no basis for that feeling.

The tunnel opened up into a much larger cavern. This one could have easily held ten football fields at its widest point. Everywhere I looked, there were tents of varying sizes and shapes. A bustling shantytown. It was not quiet, either - the cavern was nearly echoing with thousands of voices. The Dwarves here had certainly fallen upon hard times, yet that seemed to have no bearing on their outspoken nature.

Savory aromas tantalized my olfactories. Cooking fires dotted the camp, tendrils of smoke curling up into the air. I noticed the top of the cavern was very hazy – all that smoke was accumulating without any wind to disperse it. If ventilation was not addressed soon, these Dwarves would run into problems.

I spotted a circular tent, larger than all the others, which looked promising. It was located in the center of the shantytown, which made it even more promising. There were guards stationed outside the entrance flaps, but they let me pass. Perks of being sprite companion to the Sylph.

There was a large table in the center of this tent. Around it sat a small group of older, grayer-haired Dwarves conversing with each other in quiet conversation. From the snippets and snatches of conversation I was picking up, they seemed to be hashing out logistics. Food distribution, oil rationing for the lamps, an inventory of medical supplies, and reports from soldiers sent to recon the deeper tunnels for subterranean lakes.

I ignored them. I had eyes only for the Dwarf sitting at the opposite end of the table. He wore a black and gold greatcoat. Violet eyes. Closely-trimmed beard. Coal-black hair. Yep, that was Bob, alright. Robert Blackthorne V, Lord of Goldmont Fiefdom. It'd been a little while since I'd seen him last, but he recognized me instantly. Not surprising – sprites are difficult individuals to forget. We tend to leave lasting impressions.

"Sprite!" the Lord of Goldmont bellowed heartily, rising from his chair. He took his leave from the table, allowing the elders to continue working out the details of whatever it was they were planning. "I feared you would never wake up! It eases the mind seeing you in restored health. How are you feeling?"

"Shitty. Where's Cass?" I got right to the point. Cass was nowhere to be found, and this troubled me.

"The Sylph is gone."

I swear my eye almost twitched. "_What?_"

"You mistake my meaning, Sprite," Blackthorne clarified. "She is very much alive. I mean she has _left_." He rose from the table, gesturing for the elders to continue without him. They resumed. He made his way around the table, holding out a hand towards the entrance flaps as he approached. "Come, let us discuss these matters outside. Council is convening – we should not disrupt the proceedings."

The Dwarven lord escorted me out of the tent. I glanced up, once again, at the cavern ceiling. "You're gonna have to do something about all those cooking fires," I said to Bob. "Looks like you'll be breathing smoke if that goes on too long."

"One singular link in a mile-long chain of problems we are currently working through," Robert Blackthorne admitted. For a moment, he sounded like the weariest Dwarf on the planet. Then the moment passed and he straightened his posture. "As you may have observed, already, we are currently occupying the cavern system underneath Mount Goldmont." I gave myself a mental high-five. I'd been right about my location. "This was the only viable haven for the exodus."

That last bit caught my attention. "Exodus?" I echoed.

"Yes, exodus," Blackthorne repeated himself. "While you slept, the Sylph assisted me in evacuating the population of the entire fief – including you – to the safety of these caverns. The mountain is our only defense against Derse's warships."

"That's…quite a feat. Um. Wow. How long have I been out?"

"Today marks a week."

"Holy fuckmuffins, a _week?_ I've been unconscious for a whole _week?_" I nearly exploded. The details of my dream were slipping, falling away, yet… Had it really been a week? That meant Cass was on her way to Anubis this very moment. She might've even found him, already. Time to go. "I'm leaving," I declared, my mind made up.

"Are you certain that is wise, Sprite?" Blackthorne asked me. "You have hardly returned to full strength."

"Seven days of sleep is enough for now," I replied. "Goodbye, Bob. It was good seeing you again."

Blackthorne looked like he wanted to argue, but he chose not to. I suppose you could say he knew me too well. Instead, he raised a hand in farewell. "I see there is no changing your mind." The Lord of Goldmont clasped fists with me. Quietly, he said to me, "The exodus would have failed had you and the Sylph not cleared the wyrm nests beforehand. We will not forget."

I launched myself into the air and spread my wings, rapidly gaining altitude with each beat. Within seconds I was shooting down the long auxiliary entrance tunnel. It was the same tunnel Cass and I used to gain entry to this mountain the first time we'd come here. Remember? Back when we were on glorified exterminator duty? Last time it took us hours to get from one end of the tunnel to the other, but today I managed to close the distance in about ten minutes. Travelling solo was much faster for me.

I shot out of the western face of Mount Goldmont, unknowingly flinging myself headlong into the gale-force winds of the perfect storm that was raging outside. Rain was everywhere, zipping in all directions. It bit at my face, stinging wherever it hit. Thunder was growling at me continuously. The moments of silence in between thunderclaps were abysmally brief.

God damn it all. This storm was fucking _loud_. It was giving me a headache.

I fought to keep control over where I was flying, but the winds kept changing on me. The air currents were acting like they were at a fucking homecoming dance. Everything was a hot sweaty mess.

The rain was becoming a big problem for my visibility. Fortunately, I'd learned a thing or two from my experiences on the Land of Rain and Rivers. I took a deep breath and invoked Force, focusing on maintaining a convex energy field in front of me. I called it my rain-shield. This served to deflect most of the rain droplets, protecting my eyes and face.

My heart leaped into my throat when lightning seared across my path, creating a momentary connection across two storm clouds. I flew through the valley between those two clouds barely a second later, jagged splotches of color burned into my retinas.

I could still smell the ozone.

The resulting thunderclap caused my ears to pop. The sound quite literally slammed into me on all sides. It felt like getting punched, only everywhere at once. My concentration was ruined. Pain stabbed through my head. I dropped like a stone for a few moments, losing nearly a hundred feet in altitude before I gained my senses and reasserted my flight.

Well, that was that. No more storm-diving.

I shot myself straight up into the sky, piercing right through the storm clouds. When I burst free, I released the breath I didn't even know I was holding. The shift was almost shocking. It was still windy, up here, but the wind was not quite so chaotic. The air currents were following their normal patterns. Skaia was visible above the clouds. It small dot of gently blazing light trailing its way westward. It was impossible to make out any of the details of Skaia at this distance, but when I looked closely I could pick up a bluish tint to the light.

In the far distance, way off to the east, I spotted one of the Dersite warships. It was holding position above the storm clouds. These storms appeared to be putting the invasion on hold. Were I fishing for silver linings, that would be my greatest catch.

Thankfully, the warship could not see me. I don't think I could take on a warship all by myself – we're not all Bruce Willis in _Live Free or Die Hard_. For those who have not seen this movie, Bruce Willis takes on a fighter jet and _wins_. The man is invincible. He…

Oh Jesus, Bruce Willis…

Rest in peace, Bruce Willis.

Wow. They're all dead, you know? Isn't that...funny? I guess not. I'm not laughing.

Think about it, though. When you're one of the last living members of your species, first you comprehend that everyone else is dead. Then you comprehend that this means all your favorite celebrities. ALL your favorite celebrities. Like Sean Connery. He's dead right now. And Morgan Freeman? He's dead too. Neil Patrick Harris is dead. Jack Black is dead. Nicolas Cage is probably dead. Ian McKellan and Patrick Stewart are both dead. Angela Lansbury is dead.

Betty White? Dead.

Every time I thought of another awesome famous person, I could hear the fucking death knell in the background.

Joan Rivers, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams. Dead, dead, and-

_Enough._

I held my westward course, trying my best not to think of anymore dead people. Which was hard. So many dead people to think of.

The storms did not abate.

I flew for over an hour. At least, I think it was an hour. Easy to lose track of time, up here. I could 'see the light' when Cass's tower of stacked duplicated houses finally came into view. The storms raged on, roiling in all directions as far as I could see. And since my prototyping, I could see pretty damn far. This probably saved my life.

When I first spotted the massive swarm of wyrms and basilisks hanging in the sky around the houses – and, by extension, when _they_ first noticed _me_ – I was still pretty far away and therefore had plenty of time to react. There were easily over a thousand of the creatures. They were not attacking the house – they were merely waiting.

Before any of those underlings could react, I folded my wings and sent myself into a steep dive. I plunged back into the clouds, bracing myself against the buffeting winds. The gusts threatened to blow me off course, but I had proper momentum this time. Gravity was on my side. The charged moisture of the storm clouds pressed in on me. I could barely see my own hands in front of my face. My avian-flavored instincts quickly took the reins, allowing me to intuitively 'feel' my way around the currents.

All the same, eagle senses or no eagle senses, storm winds were unpredictable. I think it was a miracle in of itself that I managed to reach Cass's house-tower at all, let alone land without braining myself. It was certainly not a graceful landing – I plowed sideways into the balcony railing. Ow. That one was gonna leave a bruise. _Ow._

I grabbed the balcony railing before the wind could snatch me away, folding my wings and pulling myself over to the door. It took a lot of strength to open the door against the wind, but I managed, hurling myself inside. The wind slammed the door shut behind me. I rested on my back, my chest heaving as I fought to regain my breath. _Christ on wonder bread, that was close_...

I sat up and looked around, getting my bearings. I recognized the space I was in as the upstairs hallway of the Galavis residence. Although I've never been inside Cass's house, before, I'd seen the interior enough times to know the layout. No, not because I was creeping. I'd been Cass's server player, remember? I'm the one who helped her into the Medium. I'm also the one who built this tower of copied and pasted house-duplicates in the first place.

That felt like a lifetime ago. When the world was ending and life was simpler.

I took the stairs down to the front hall. There was an imp gnawing into one of the sofas in the adjacent parlor. It whipped around to face me, bared two rows of pointed teeth in a feral snarl. Then it pounced at me, flying through the air, claws outstretched.

I used Force to snap its neck. The imp's little body fell with a quiet thud.

There was a square hole in the floor. A ladder sat within the opening, leading down into the upstairs hallway of the house beneath this one. There was a second imp scurrying up the ladder, attracted by hearing the demise of its friend. I snapped its neck, too. Then I shimmied down the ladder.

Gunfire broke out. Out of reflex, I tucked myself into a ball and dove for cover, rolling out of the upstairs hallway into one of the bedrooms. The gunfire continued. I regained my senses, realized that the shooting was actually coming from below. At least several houses below this one. It had to be Cass's M16. She was nearby.

I glanced over to the nearest window and considered jumping out and flying several houses down. I decided against it, though. I could barely see anything through the window – everything was gray and dark. The window itself was subjected to a bombardment of rainwater. Only surges of lightning could be seen through the streaked glass.

So instead, I hurried downstairs and found the kitchen. I rummaged around through the cabinets until I found what I was looking for – pots and pans. I grabbed a sturdy-looking pan. Then I found a metal spoon in one of the cookware drawers. That was all I needed.

I started banging the spoon against the pan, screaming at the top of my lungs. I tromped around the kitchen in circles, making as much noise as possible. Having trouble thinking of anything specific to shout, I resorted to screaming the lyrics of the Star Spangled Banner. The idea was to attract as many underlings as I possibly could.

And it worked. Boy, did it work.

Within seconds, I could hear skittering, growling, and hissing coming from the parlor. Imps were surging up the ladder from the house beneath this one. They dropped into the upstairs hallway, too – imps from several houses above me were able to hear my racket, even over the howling wind.

I threw the pan at the first imp to charge into the room. It bounced off the creature's skull with a dull _clang_. The imp did not get back up. I drew my sprite-matter sword and rushed forward to intercept the rest of the imps. Sometimes it was best to take the initiative. Not always, but sometimes. Now was one of those times. I fared better against large numbers of enemies when I had momentum to work with.

I beheaded the second imp with a single clean stroke. I tried to do the same for a third imp, but I was too slow – the imp pounced me, latching onto my sword arm with its teeth. That hurt. A lot. I let out a pained yelp and threw myself into a sharp spin, swinging the orally-fixated imp around and slamming it into the wall. The orally-fixated imp squealed in pain, jarred to the core by the impact. It sprang back up to its feet and skittered away from me, bounding across the room and leaping through one of the windows. The shattered glass was blown inward by the winds outside, but none of the shards hit me.

The parlor was assaulted by the wind and the stray rain droplets it carried. I had to keep my wings tightly folded, otherwise they'd catch the wind and I'd get blown off-balance. In a close-quarters fight with underlings, losing my balance would result in a permanent vacation to my own personal afterlife.

I turned away from the window in time to see no less than five imps flying through the air at me, all of them mid-pounce. Jesus H, these little shits love pouncing. Sliding into reaction, I lowered my sword and thrust my free hand forward. The imps were met in mid-air by a blunt arc of energy which I projected forward at a rather high speed. The results were not pretty. I'm just glad I didn't get any of the blood spatter on me.

I was allowed a momentary reprieve by the pulping of those five less-than-lucky imps, but I kept right on moving. I extended my sword and lunged, impaling a surprised imp through its stomach. One of the impaled imp's friends took exception to that. It bared its teeth and claws, launching itself into the air. I ducked down low to the ground, dodging Pouncing Imp.

Pouncing Imp sailed overhead, missing me and plowing headfirst into the wall. It left a sizable indent.

More imps streamed into the room, but that was not what worried me. What worried me were the booming footsteps approaching from above, heavy enough to send tremors through the floor. Ogres.

Time to move.

I yanked my sword free, ignoring the squelch. I straightened back up. Pouncing Imp, freshly recovered from its recent failure, came flying at me a second time. I jumped to the side. Pouncing Imp missed again, this time striking the coffee table in the middle of the room. It was reduced to splinters.

I jumped down through the hole in the floor connecting this house with the one below. I didn't bother using the ladder. The upstairs hallway of this house was rather choked with imps, as well, with more surging up the stairs from the first floor. Fortunately, I happened to be a mostly-weightless energy being, so I just flew right over the tide, hugging the hallway ceiling.

Once I reached the stairs, I dropped back to the floor. I sent a powerful blast of concentrated flame down the hallway, incinerating all of the underlings unfortunate enough to be crowded in there. The mistake here was leaving my side open to attack from the stairs. Teeth suddenly sank into my left side.

Another fucking imp had latched on with its teeth, trying to tear a chunk of me away. The momentum of the imp's leap threw me off-balance and sent me tumbling down the stairs. I bowled over several more imps along the way, landing in a heap at the bottom. Before the world had even stopped spinning, I looped an arm around the neck of the imp who was biting me. I squeezed until I felt a crunch.

I took another deep breath, pretty much forcing the air down my throat. Fuck. I'm getting my ass kicked. Didn't I used to be better than this? Perhaps I should have followed the healer's advice and stayed in bed. _Fuck._

Okay.

_Get up, Adam!_

Energy sparked through my body. I sprang up from the ground, leaving a luminous crimson bloodstain on the landing. There were more imps waiting for me on the ground floor of this house, perhaps a dozen. They all rushed me at once. I felt the Force Aspect humming deep within me, aching to be released.

Anger blossomed in my gut and I screamed at the charging imps. "_ENOUGH!_"

The explosion destroyed all the furniture in the room and shattered all the windows. The imps were all blasted off their feet. They struck the walls before crumpling, unconscious, onto the floor. One of the little shits actually got its head lodged in the ceiling. It dangled there, legs kicking uselessly.

I blinked several times, surprised at the destruction I'd caused. Whoops.

For the briefest of moments, the room was quiet. The respite was short-lived, but I enjoyed all three of the seconds for which it lasted. Then an ogre came roaring out of the upstairs hallway, bringing the respite to an abrupt end.

Fortunately for me, Cass chose that very moment to emerge through the opening in the floor from the house below. Her sleeves were rolled up to her shoulders. Her skin was riddled with cuts, scrapes, bruises, and a few deeper lacerations. She must have gotten swiped by the imps quite a few times already. The blood dripping down the side of her head seemed to agree.

For a moment, the three of us were comically frozen – Cass on the ladder, Ogre at the top of the stairs, and little old me sandwiched in the middle. Then we snapped back into movement. The ogre charged, Cass aimed her rifle, and I hit the fucking dirt. Cass opened fire, squeezing off a quick burst.

The gunfire roared over my head, catching the ogre about halfway down the stairs. The three white energy bolts drilled through the ogre's chest, but they did not bring it down. It faltered, coughing up blood. Then it kept right on coming.

"The head! Go for the head!" I yelled. "Headshot, Cass! _Headshot!_"

Cass's next three-round burst tore through the ogre's throat. Close enough. It pitched forward, tumbling down the stairs. The ogre's corpse dissolved as it tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap of build grist at the bottom of the stairs.

I stared blankly at the pile of grist. I looked up at Cass, then back down to the grist. "Nice shot," I told her.

"Thanks," she replied, taking a moment to recharge her rifle. She smiled at me. "And thanks for waking up. You had me worried."

I floated over to Cass and gave her a great big hug. God, I needed more hugs in my life. "What, did you think I was gonna let you stroll into Anubis's Palace all by yourself?"

"No, but I was still worried."

"Glad you're okay." I leaned in close. I wanted to kiss her, but she pulled away before I could. That confused me. "Um… Sorry, I thought we… Since the beach, I thought we… Aren't we…?"

"Adam, I…" Cass looked like she had something to say, but couldn't quite find the right words to say it. "Please, let's just focus on getting to my Seventh Gate. Now isn't the time to talk."

Holy shit, that was awkward. So very, very awkward. That was also when the imps chose to return. Over a dozen of them poured out of the upstairs hallway, even more behind. I've never been so glad to see imps.

Okay. _Focus._

With Cass and me fighting together, we stood more of a chance against the waves of underlings. I could only imagine how the hell Cass had managed to get this far by herself. We carved a path upwards through the tower of house-duplicates. Twenty minutes (and four lacerations) later, we passed the Sixth Gate. The imps showed no signs of stopping. In fact, the waves were getting denser and denser.

We were above the storm, now. The howl of the wind had quieted and there was no longer any rain pulverizing the outside of the houses. Skaialight now peeked in through the windows.

This was ridiculous. Every time I blasted a group of imps out of our way, dozens more would pour in to fill the gap. Cass and I had to keep moving constantly – we were outrunning the imps pursuing us from below every bit as much as we were hacking our way through the underlings ahead. Fucking ridiculous.

The only real silver lining was the relative absence of ogres. We hadn't run into too many more of those hulking underlings, thank fucking god.

"Was it this bad at the bottom?!" I asked Cass as we made our way upstairs to the second-story hallway. I had to shout in order to be heard over the ruckus of her alchemized M16, coupled with the underlings' howls and screeches.

"No!" Cass yelled back. She sank to a knee, laying down suppressing fire on the imps who were attempting to swarm up the stairs behind us. "It was pretty tame at the bottom! It just keeps getting worse the higher I go!"

An imp skittering across the ceiling dropped to the floor in front of me, claws outstretched and teeth bared. I kicked it in the stomach, sending it flying down to the opposite end of the hallway. I used the Force Aspect to clear a path to the ladder connecting this house with the one above. While Cass covered the stairs, I grabbed the bottom rungs of the ladder.

More imps appeared at the top of the ladder. They started to drop down, but I did not allow them the chance. I thrust my fists upwards, sending twin jets of flame roiling up the ladder, incinerating the imps who'd jumped through the opening. Those who did not jump were blasted away from the top of the ladder, likely singed for their trouble.

I scampered up the ladder, poking my head through the opening.

The first thing I saw were the six or seven imps who I'd burned with my fire attack. They were curled up, licking their wounds. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost. The second thing I saw were the ogres. There were five of the hulking, tusked underlings in this house, all clumped around the ladder, waiting for me to emerge.

Five. Fucking. Ogres.

No. Nope. Not today. Fucking _no_.

Before the ogres could even react, I let go of the ladder and plummeted back into the upstairs hallway below. I rushed back down the hallway to get Cass. She was still covering the stairs. As I approached, she glanced at me over her shoulder. "Adam, what-?"

Whatever she was about to ask was suddenly cut off when I barreled into her, flinging my arms around her torso, flaring my wings, launching myself forward into the air over the stairs. The ogres stormed the upstairs hallway, but we were already airborne. Hurtling towards a wall, actually. I quickly used Force to disintegrate the wall before we slammed into it.

I did not release my Aspect. Not quite yet. Instead, I focused it on myself, forming the convex rain-shield. I gave several powerful wing beats. Beats that had all of my strength behind them. I shot upwards, rapidly gaining altitude.

Below me, the thunderclouds churned. They were an angry dark gray, occasionally shot through with dull flashes of internal lightning. They stretched to the horizon in all directions. Above me, the masses of wyrms and banshees swarmed around the houses at the very top of the tower. They reminded me of the chaotic swirl of snow in a snowglobe immediately after it is shaken.

This time I was ready. I knew exactly what I was gonna do. I was all warmed up from the frenzied indoor melee – the fire was begging to be released. I breathed deeply, bringing acute awareness to my rain-shield. It was still humming around me. I'd maintained its integrity unconsciously, out of sheer habit, even after I'd sheltered myself from the storm. It was instinctive. Now, I simply elaborated upon it. I gave myself a moment to feel the entirety of the invisible energy field, mapping out the curves, contours, and perimeters. Then I altered its shape. I widened the base circle of the shield to form a ring of energy around me with a radius of roughly nine feet.

Once I had a stable ring, I directed all my focus to the front-most point at the 'apex' of the rain-shield. When I found it, I projected the focus point upward, extending the rain-shield into a cone-shaped force field. Then I gave the Force cone some energy and caused it to start spinning rapidly. This caused it to explode with fire. My heart jumped into my fucking stomach. _FUCK._ I didn't expect that to happen. Holy shit. The fire flared at the base of the cone. It spiraled up along the spinning cone towards the focus point.

I snapped into focus, reinforcing the inside surface of the cone. This kept any of the fire from roaring into our faces. A vein pulsed in my temple. My head started to throb. This was taking more energy to maintain than I anticipated, but it was working. I'd just created a fire drill. And not the annoying kind. I mean a literal drill made out of fire. It was amazing. And it was giving me a headache.

If the wyrms and banshees hadn't noticed me before, they sure as fuck noticed me now. At first I could not see them. They threw themselves into my fire drill and were immolated for their trouble. More were singed, but repulsed by the Force Aspect before they were consumed. The rest veered away from the fire, giving me a wide birth. They were the smart ones.

The smart underlings shot past me. Or, rather, I shot past them. I was ascending much faster than they were diving.

I could see them beneath me, where the flames from the ring merely trailed away. They flapped their wings madly, arresting their downward momentum and rising back up in pursuit. I couldn't afford to let them catch up – it was taking all my concentration to maintain the fire drill, let alone engaging in aerial combat.

I think Cass was screaming the whole time. It was hard to tell over all the noise. The fire drill was _loud_. And hot. Ridiculously hot. Yes, sprites can indeed sweat, and right now I felt like I was drowning. The ring of flames, at the base of the Force cone, was barely twenty feet in diameter. That left us with a little over nine feet of space between us and the fire in all directions.

You know that blast of hot, dry air that engulfs you when you open the oven door? I was living it, right now. Full-body oven experience.

Fuck. This isn't working. Fuck. Too fucking hot. This isn't gonna work. _Fuck._

We're gonna fucking suffocate in here.

_No, Adam. Make it bigger_.

I took a deep breath and gave the fire drill more energy. Rather than increasing its rate of spinning, I dumped the new energy into broadening the base ring. The diameter of the fire drill stretched to nearly thirty feet, lessening the intensity of the close flames.

The heat relaxed to a more bearable level. Then I lost control of the drill.

It was crumpling, folding in on itself.

FUCK.

_The focus point._

Of course. The focus point at the tip of the fire drill was too close – when I broadened the base of the vortex, I'd forgotten to extend the focus point to compensate for the change in angle. I wanted to slap myself on the forehead for the oversight, but that would have fatally ruined my concentration. I extended the focus point, elongating the fire drill to its idea proportion.

That hurt, too.

The fire drill took a lot of energy to maintain. The increase in size was straining my limits. All the muscles in my body were aching. My head throbbed. _Fuck_. Maybe Cass had some Advil in her sylladex. I hoped so. I needed one.

I'm never making a fire drill again. Fuck this.

Cass's houses whizzed on by. We were ascending very quickly. So fast, in fact, that I missed the house at the top of the tower. I looked up for a second to check on the integrity of the fire drill, and then back down to see the topmost Galavis residence getting smaller and smaller beneath me.

My vision fixated on the glowing epicycloid portal hanging in the air about ten feet above the topmost house's roof. Cass's Seventh Gate. Through it lay a one-way trip to visit Anubis. The Denizen of LOTAD. Was I excited? Absolutely not. However, the alternative was staying here, which made the decision to proceed a very easy one.

I let go. The fire drill, the Force Aspect, my momentum – I let it all dissipate. Just let it all go. Except Cass. I didn't let go of Cass. That would've sucked.

I kept my arms tightly cinched around Cass's torso as we fell. The underlings below, the ones we'd blasted ahead of, surged up to meet us. I sent two blasts of flame past my wisp and Cass's feet, scattering those wyrms and banshees that were closest. I didn't burn any of them, but they were afraid of my fire and easily scattered by it. I didn't need them dead; I just needed them out of the fucking way.

The Seventh Gate rushed up to meet us. We plunged through.

Everything went white.

The wind was gone. The thunderstorms were gone. The underlings, blissfully gone.

For a moment, I felt incredibly dizzy. Nausea clenched at my stomach. This happened every time I experienced one form of teleportation or another. Perhaps I'm allergic to instantaneous travel. I've never thrown up, but this time I came very close. Thankfully, the white light subsided a moment later, and the nausea along with it.

My headache from that stupid fire drill remained.

I opened my eyes to one of the most bizarre sights I've seen in a long while.

We were underground. The Seventh Gate dumped us in a gigantic cavern.

And when I say gigantic, I mean fucking _gigantic_. No exaggeration. This cavern was probably spacious enough to fit a small city. The walls were glowing. They were covered in crystals. Luminous amethyst crystal formations. They glowed brightly, emitting a gentle, but powerful violet light. Bright enough to illuminate the entire space.

I released Cass. Her knees wobbled, but she was able to keep steady. "You alright?" I asked her. She nodded _yes_. She did not seem capable of speech just yet. Understandable. She'd just rocketed through a fire-breathing underling infested sky at ridiculous speeds with my death grip serving as her only safeguard against plummeting thousands of feet to a bloody mess.

Sometimes I think I take my ability to fly for granted.

My gaze was immediately drawn to the distant pale light emanating from the center of the cavern.

A white pyramid rose from the crystal thicket. The surfaces of the pyramid were perfectly flat planes. They caught the amethyst light, yet still managed to retain their white hue. Emblazoned on each side of the pyramid was a black spiral with a white hole in the center.

That symbol set off fireworks in my head. I'd never seen it before, but my sprite knowledge recognized it and connected the appropriate synapses. _Death_. That was the symbol for the Death Aspect. We were definitely in Anubis's neck of the woods.

I groaned quietly, pressing two fingers to my left temple, tenderly massaging the throbbing muscles. Getting a jolt of sprite knowledge had not done wonders for my headache.

I turned to Cass, who was staring, slack-jawed, at the pyramid. "You have any Advil in your sylladex?" I asked her.

Cass silently shook her head _no_. Still not quite capable of speech. And no Advil.

I exhaled a resigned breath. I'd have to deal with this headache the old fashioned way. Riding it out one wave at a time.


	80. VI Chapter 80: Anna Speaks

Chapter Eighty: Anna Speaks

Sobriety.

Ugh.

Anna Carrero was reasonably sure she could open up any thesaurus and find 'sobriety' listed as a synonym under 'misery'.

Sobriety and inebriation had become alternating states of being, cycling through Anna's life with the impassive certainty of night and day. Misery was the constant. Sober, drunk, or wasted – it didn't matter. Life sucked every which way.

A twinge of pain made itself known behind Anna's left eye. It was her headache. This headache had shown up after the initial detox last week, and it had yet to abate. Anna winced quietly, massaging around the tender spot with two fingers.

She continued to stroll down the deceptively long corridor, stepping aside for any Prospitian crewmembers who came bustling past.

The Prospitian naval personnel were so _busy_. Seriously. It made Anna's headache flare up, watching the sailors curtly quick-stepping their way through the corridors. There was no small talk. The sailors never spoke with each other about happy nothings. No discussions of preference for Coke vs. Pepsi, no complaints about sleep deprivation, no clamoring about last week's episode of Lost…

Anna blinked, bringing herself back into the moment. There had once been a time when she drunkenly wandered the halls of Downingtown East High School. She would absorb all the small talk and her head would throb. Now she missed it. Now there was no small talk, and Anna's head throbbed anyway.

Anna left the corridor and entered a stairwell, climbing up towards the deck.

This was such bullshit. Putting down the liquor bottle should make a person feel _better,_ not worse.

Yes, Anna was acutely aware of the biological reasons why withdrawal sucked. She knew her endocrine system was fried worse than shitty Chinese food. She knew the neurotransmitters in her brain, suppressed by the constant flow of alcohol over the past couple years, were now going utterly haywire. She understood this very well.

And it was still bullshit.

As Anna climbed the stairs, she reflected on her alcoholism. She wondered how many drinks she'd consumed throughout her life. Was it even possible to calculate such a thing? How does one account for all the nuances, like finishing a drink halfway and refilling it? Or finishing the remnants of other people's unwanted/forgotten beverages?

What even counted as a 'drink'? Did shots of liquor hold the same value as a water bottle filled with jungle juice, or a glass of wine? Anna didn't think so. She would need to devise a point value system in order to work it out.

Perhaps it would be easier to think in terms of volume. How many cubic liters of booze have passed through Anna's body? If it were all gathered in one place, how much space would it take up? A swimming pool? Three swimming pools?

Anna had no clue.

The door at the top of the stairs hissed aside for Anna, triggered by a hidden motion sensor.

She stepped outside. The door slid shut behind her.

All was quiet on deck.

The _White Shadow_ crept through the inky darkness of the Medium's interplanetary space. There were no stars in the incipisphere. Stars were for universes, and this was not a universe. Were it not for the soft ambient lighting on the _White Shadow's_ deck, Anna would not have even been able to see her hands held up to her face.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, out through her mouth.

Her exhalation was one of the only audible noises out here on the deck. She came up here often for precisely that reason – it was so quiet. Part of living on the _White Shadow_ was getting used to the omnipresent hum of the engines. It reverberated softly throughout the entire ship. It was not unpleasant to listen to. Sometimes it even helped Anna sleep.

All the same, it was no substitute for silence, and it was silence right now that Anna craved.

Anna wandered the deck. There were energy cannons mounted along the sides of the deck. Taking up most of the top deck's central space was a series of platforms bearing a giant railgun. Anna studied them for a few moments. She'd explored those railgun platforms last time she visited the top deck. This time, she was less inclined to do so.

Instead, Anna made her way aft. She walked slowly, taking time between each step, ignoring the shouting in order to soak up the silence.

Wait. Shouting? Who was shouting?

The raised voices were coming from the observation deck, which rested atop a tall platform near the _White Shadow's_ stern. Anna could not make out any of the words, but she recognized the voices as those of Tami and Cruz.

Uh-oh.

Two fellow teenagers who started a relationship after an impulsive kiss were now fighting. What a surprise. Anna had seen this coming from miles away. She considered devising a way to get close enough to eavesdrop without being noticed, only to be interrupted by a quiet cough.

Anna turned around.

Hunched over the rail was a Prospitian crewmember. A cigarette hung limply between two fingers, smoldering. The Prospitian brought the cigarette up to her mouth, took a drag. She noticed Anna looking at her and reached into a pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes.

The cigarettes were American Spirits.

"Look like you could use one of these, Seer," the Prospitian observed. She removed a cigarette from the pack, offered it.

Anna hesitated. Then she shrugged and accepted the cigarette. One addiction at a time. She retrieved a Bic lighter from her sylladex and set the cigarette aflame, breathing in the nicotine. She joined the Prospitian and rested her arms on the rail, exhaling the smoke.

"You have a name?" Anna asked.

The Prospitian nodded. "The Muse calls me G. You may do the same, if you wish."

"Well-spoken for a sailor," Anna remarked.

The Prospitian gave no outward reaction to Anna's prod. "And how many sailors have you spoken with?"

"Um…" Anna's forehead creased in a frown. "Well, I guess you're the first."

"Then this is momentous." G's neutral tone rendered it impossible for Anna to tell if she was being sarcastic or merely making an observation.

The nascent conversation petered out and silence settled in. Anna's cigarette slowly burned down to halfway. She gave it a light flick, knocking off the curl of ash. Then G broke the silence with an unexpected question.

"Are you feeling better?" G asked. Anna's only response was a surprised look on her face. G went on to say, "I know what alcohol is. I also know what alcohol withdrawal is."

"Carapacians drink?"

"Well, we certainly smoke." G raised her cigarette, took another drag. "Stands to reason we drink, too."

"Makes sense," Anna agreed. "I feel fine. Shitty, but fine. If _that_ makes sense."

"It does."

Another silence. Anna and G finished their cigarettes. They flicked the still-smoking cigarette butts over the rail. The smoldering butts spun away into space where there was no friction to slow them down. Eventually they would leave the Medium and enter the Furthest Ring, where millions of discarded cigarette butts already floated.

On the observation deck above, Cruz and Tami continued to fight. Both had raised their voices. Anna could make out individual words and phrases. G heard them, too, though she did not understand any of it.

"Why do the Muse and the Sage argue?" the Prospitian asked.

"Because they're two very different people who think they're in love, but really they're just scared shitless and looking for comfort." Anna was surprised by the tonelessness of her voice. "Can't blame them. I actually think it's adorable."

G's only expression was a blank stare. She produced her pack of American Spirits, plucked out two more. She offered one to Anna. "Want another?" the Prospitian asked.

Anna eyed the cigarette. She _did_ want it, but… "I shouldn't," she said.

"That's not what I asked."

Another hesitation. Followed by another shrug. Anna accepted the cigarette.

They smoked in silence.

The nicotine calmed Anna's jittery nerves. She knew the feeling of calm was a chemically-induced lie, but she was grateful for it. Fake calm was better than no calm.

The argument on the observation deck escalated. Cruz and Tami were pretty much shouting at each other, now. Anna could make out entire sentences. She pieced together an impression of the entire argument without even meaning to.

Cruz never answered his texts.

Tami stressed out all the time, and her stress was infectious.

Cruz didn't pay attention to half the things Tami said to him.

Tami read too deeply into _everything_ Cruz said to her.

Cruz did not understand why Tami felt the need to constantly text him when they were on the _same fucking ship_.

Tami wanted to talk about home.

Cruz did not.

And to top it all off, they were running low on condoms.

Anna could not help but giggle, in spite of her gray mood. Eavesdropping was fun. Eavesdropping on fighting couples was the _most _fun.

"What is funny, Seer?" G asked.

"_Them._" Anna gestured over her shoulder toward the observation deck.

"Why?"

"Ever listen to a good fight between lovers?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Well. It's like this. Being in a relationship is a giant puzzle. You love another person. But that person will always have habits, tendencies, quirks that don't mesh very well with your own. The puzzle pieces don't fit. And so you fight." By now, the laughter had completely faded. "It's futile, though. You can't ever solve someone else's puzzle. All you can do is accept them for who they are, maintain open channels of communication, and focus on arranging your own puzzle pieces in a way that doesn't stink. All Tami and Cruz need to do is relax and have a calm discussion like adults. But that won't happen."

"You don't think so?"

"Nope." Anna took one last drag from her second cigarette.

"Why not?"

"It takes time and patience for a relationship to work. We have no time. None of us are patient. And how are any of us supposed to relax? This is the most relaxed I've been in a long time, and I'm _still_ fucking stressed."

Anna flicked the smoldering cigarette butt off into space. She watched it drift away.

"Probably doesn't help that we still have the emotional maturity of children," Anna continued, her gaze still fixed on the departed cigarette butt. "Our emotions are fucking comets we tether ourselves to. Honestly, if you ever took a stroll through one of our high schools, you'd've drowned underneath all the hormones. Everyone who wasn't fucking each other was imagining fucking each other. It was fun, G, don't get me wrong. The deluge of fornication was fun. Adults frowned on it, which made it even better. But it had its price. HPV. Ruined relationships. Burnt bridges. Social ostracization. Most kids my age were sexually repressed – when they saw someone like me acting out all of their hidden, shamed desires, their reaction was always one of jealousy. That's when the names started flying. Slut. Whore. Cumrag. Schrodinger's Petri Dish."

"Petri dish?" G raised both eyebrows at that one.

"Yeah, Schrodinger's Petri Dish. My ex-boyfriend Adam coined that one. He said my vagina was a petri dish that contained all known sexually-transmitted diseases. Impossible to sleep with me without contracting one. But until confirmation of which specific disease got transmitted, it must be assumed that all possible diseases were being transmitted simultaneously." Anna's voice trailed away and she was quiet for a short while. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued. "Guess I've been holding onto that one for a long time. If it hadn't been directed at me, I might've thought it was hilarious."

"Sure."

"Geez, I'm really running my mouth, today. I guess the booze wasn't behind the chattiness – that's been in me this whole time."

"Could be nerves," G suggested. "You've had yourself a long rest on this ship. But it won't last forever. Venting your thoughts to a witness can help. It feels as though you are leaving a piece of yourself behind, so when something bad happens to you there will at least be some part of the universe that remembers you existed."

"Shit." Anna took a deep breath. "_Shit,_ G. Damn. You just slammed us both into heavy-land."

"I believe your commentary on budding sexuality slammed us there first."

"Fair enough. You're probably right. Probably just nerves. Probably definitely just nerves."

G pulled out the carton of American Spirits a third time. Two more cigarettes emerged. One went straight to the Prospitian's mouth, where it was promptly enkindled. The second cigarette waited between G's fingers, its fate as yet undecided. "Want another?" she asked.

Anna eyed the offered cigarette, indecisive. She was already two cigarettes deep. Would it be wise to continue? "I really shouldn't," she halfheartedly insisted. "They cause cancer, you know. And the sense of relaxation is complete bullshit. It's just the satiation of a nicotine craving. The craving always comes back."

"So do the cigarettes."

The argument on the observation deck swelled to a climax. Tami and Cruz were still screaming at each other. Angry footfalls clanged against the metal surface of the high platform. Someone was storming off. Anna could almost feel the metal deck tremor under her own feet.

Then there was no more screaming. Only the sound of sobbing.

"Jesus." Anna took the third cigarette and lit up. "That sounded messy."

"I would not wish one of your human relationships on my worst enemy," G remarked.

An asteroid floated by.

Anna almost did a double take. She'd grown very accustomed to staring out into infinity. When there was nothing to focus on, her eyes grew very relaxed. But now there was an asteroid, throwing her eyes into sudden focus. It was bewildering for a moment.

More asteroids followed. And they were the small ones. Anna looked over towards the front of the ship. The _White Shadow_ was heading into a dense asteroid field. Millions of space rocks suspended in the void, spinning lethargically around their various axes. Some of them were car-sized, some house-sized, and some were the size of small towns.

Anna flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette.

"It would appear we have arrived in the Veil," the Prospitian stated, smoke seeping through her teeth as she spoke.

"It would also appear you are a master of observation."

"Sarcasm, Seer?" G blinked. "After all the cigarettes we have shared?"

"Aw, see, G, I knew you had a sense of humor," Anna giggled. She finished her cigarette and discarded it, stepping away from the railing. "Thanks for the chat. I'd love to chat more, but I think Tami needs someone to talk to."

"I believe she needs a tissue first."

Anna left G at the rail. The Prospitian continued to smoke alone.

After climbing the nearest ladder to the top of the observation deck, Anna found Tami sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. She was still crying. Her eyeliner had streaked down her cheeks. She looked up at Anna. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Tami asked. Her voice was hoarse from all the screaming. She sounded exhausted. There was no trace of accusation in her question, so Anna's reply was shameless.

"Yeah."

Tami gave a small nod. She'd been expecting that answer. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know there's trouble in Paradise."

"_Paradise_." Tami snorted. "Is that what a relationship is supposed to be? Because if it is, then I've clearly been doing it wrong." More tears seeped from her eyes. She started to break down again. "Dead wrong."

Anna's mouth curved in a knowing smile. Memories of relationships past and their turbulent conclusions drifted into her conscious awareness, triggered by Tami's experience. She sat down next to Tami, scooching up against the wall, bringing her knees up to her chin. She accessed her sylladex and retrieved a small pack of Kleenex tissues. "Here. You could probably use these."

"I'm alright, thanks…" Tami managed to say in between sobs.

"No, Tam. Your face is all snotty. I can see a giant booger coming out of your left nostril. Take the damn tissues."

Tami took the tissues. She blew her nose and got rid of the booger, much to Anna's relief. She used a second tissue to dab her eyes.

Anna's smile widened by a hair. "You know, Tam, I think it's adorable you still wear your makeup."

"C'mon, stop. You're just trying to make me stop crying."

"No, I'm dead serious! It's adorable. It's like a small piece of our old lives you've managed to keep alive." Anna allowed her knees to drop flat to the floor, resting her hands on her thighs. "I think sucking down all that rum was my small piece. I mean, yeah, I did a terrible thing to my body and mind, all that drinking, but… Well, there was something comforting about sipping from my flask, feeling the slight kick of alcohol in my throat... It was something I did all the time in our old lives. An old routine – like a security blanket, almost. Reminded me of better times."

"Were they better times, Anna?" Tami asked, pausing for a quick sniffle. "Were they really? I'm not so sure, anymore."

"They _were_ better times." Anna's tone grew adamant. "Everyone was alive. We were going to college. We were going to become real people. Find love… The world was at our fingertips, Tam, and most of us were too insecure to see it."

"Not much of a world at our fingertips now."

"Nope."

"What do you suppose happens after we finish this game?"

"No clue."

"Can't you…like…check through time and see?"

Anna fidgeted uncomfortably. "I've tried, but I can't see anything beyond next week. My view of the alpha timeline goes dark. It's a little scary."

"Sounds pretty scary," Tami murmured in agreement. She blinked once and frowned for a moment, noticing something wondrous. "Well, look at that. I've stopped crying."

Anna giggled. "It's my aura."

"Your aura's real nice," Tami said, "but nicotine coursing through my circulatory system would be much nicer. I don't suppose you have any cigarettes?"

"Cigarettes? No." Anna's smile widened even further. "But I have a friend here who smokes. She's probably still smoking on deck, actually. Want to go see her? I think you've already met."

"Depends. Does she have Marlboro smooths?"

"No. American Spirits."

"_Ew!_" Tami wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Spirits taste like squirrel pee."

"She probably has other kinds. She seems like the kind of person who would incorporate variety into her cigarette collection."

"I hope so, because if I have to smoke American Spirits I might throw up after."

"Well, you wouldn't _have_ to smoke. It would be your choice."

"No, Anna, I _have_ to. A cigarette needs to be smoked, and it needs to be smoked immediately."

Anna continued to smile. Tami was already sounding more like her old self. Anna helped Tami up off the floor and onto her feet. They started to head for the ladder that extended down to the deck below, but they only made it three or four steps before the observation deck's ambient lighting flashed red.

"_Cruz, Anna, Tami. You hear me?_" the voice issued from the shipwide COM system. Anna immediately recognized the voice as that of Abigail Tarrant. Adam's older sister. "_You are needed in the hangar bay. Ms. Arevalo and I will be waiting for you there. Please do not make me come looking for you._"

The ambient lightning returned to normal.

Anna shared a glance with Tami. "Looks like we're about to rejoin the mess. You gonna be okay without that cigarette?"

"I guess I'm gonna have to be."


	81. VI Chapter 81: Up a Mango Tree

**_Author's Note_**

_Well, I think this is a new record. It has been four months since Chapter 80 was posted. Four months and four days, to be precise. If any of you knew my name, you might have even searched for my obituary. Fortunately, you would not have found it. I've been alive this entire time. This chapter simply took four months and four days to write._

_A brief snapshot into my life over the past four months: I performed as Parolles in my university's production of Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well. I sound designed our production of Spoon River Project. I directed a one-act play written by a classmate of mine. I graduated from my university eleven days ago and am no longer a student of the education system. I got an internship to do sound work for the Forestburgh Playhouse in the Catskill Mountains over the summer. And during the spaces in between these projects, I wrote this chapter._

_I have no idea how output of future chapters will be affected because I am sailing in exciting uncharted waters of my life, right now. But if there is one thing I want you to take away from this author's note, it is that work on Ashes and Grist will not stop. There may be more long pauses, but you all are (presumably) Homestuck fans, so this shouldn't be anything new.  
><em>

_Alright, that's all - READ READ READ_

_-TheAmateur_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Eighty-One: Up a Mango Tree<span>

The pan sizzled on the stovetop. Within the pan, frothy yellow liquid slowly coagulated into scrambled eggs.

The Courtyard Droll hummed quietly to himself. He kept a close eye on the eggs, whisking them into shape. The Droll's mind tended to wander, easily distracted by small noises or tangential thoughts. This annoying mental habit resulted in more burned meals than the Droll cared to count.

A bird chirped on the windowsill. The Droll smiled. How lovely!

The Droll adored birds. Always singing, always greeting the new day, always fluttering merrily about the treetops. To the Droll's mild dissatisfaction, there were no birds on Derse. Much as the Droll loved his home, he found the shadowed city-planet far too quiet and dreary without any birdsong.

_Eggs_.

The Courtyard Droll snapped his focus back to the eggs. They had not burned. Crisis averted!

The Droll took a deep breath and glanced out the window behind the sink.

The Land of Shores and Prisms always had such lovely weather. Every day was a beautiful day here. Puffy cumulus clouds drifted across the amber sky, glimmering with rainbow iridescence. LOSAP's unique aerial prism crystals floated amongst the clouds, catching the skaialight and refracting it. The ocean sparkled green, its surface rippling in the gentle breeze.

Sometimes the Droll considered retiring here.

Now there was a thought. Retirement. The idea was nigh inconceivable to the Droll. Could there ever be such a thing as retirement from the Black Queen's service?

The Droll was not so sure.

For the faintest of moments, the Droll felt an intellectual tug. This thought was a charged thought. It beckoned to the Droll, encouraging him to follow where it led. Why was retirement from the Queen's service so difficult to envision? Would she ever allow it?

The Droll's temples twinged with a dull ache. This usually happened when he followed charged thoughts. Best to let those thoughts slip away. Obey the Rules. Don't burn the eggs.

_Eggs!_

The Droll snapped out of his trance, but it was too late. The scrambled eggs were now at least forty percent black.

"Stupid!" the Droll squealed, yanking the pan off the burner. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_"

Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps they could still be salvaged. The Droll retrieved a fork from the silverware drawer and prodded the charred chunks of egg, wincing as he felt how tough and rubbery they had become. He selected the largest chunk of black and attempted to extricate it from the rest of the egg. He was only partially successful.

That settled it. It would be impossible to get all the black out, and even if he could it would not matter. The taste and texture of the eggs were utterly ruined.

Nothing to do but try again.

Humming quietly to himself, the Courtyard Droll used a red plastic spatula to scrape the eggs from the bottom of the pan. He considered disposing of them in the garbage can, but decided against it. If the eggs were left in the can, there they would rot for weeks and weeks. Unloved by anybody or anything. To avoid this outcome, the Droll flung the charred eggs out the window behind the stove.

Food for the delightful birds. This was a better outcome.

The Droll set the pan down on the stove and retired from the kitchen. He would try again later. For now, he needed a break from the woes of failed cooking. Perhaps some wine?

Sitting on the table in the den was a half-finished bottle of fine wine.

Upon returning from his successful assassination of the Thane's waking self on the Land of Fog and Shadow, the Droll had liberated this very bottle from the personal wine cellar of the Black Queen. Her cellar was enormous – easily the size of a warehouse, every wall filled floor to ceiling with vintage bottles. The Queen would not notice a missing bottle or two. Or three. Or fifteen.

Unfortunately, before the Droll could enjoy his ill-gotten wine, he was summoned to the Amethyst Tower, where Jack Noir charged him with his current mission. Four days later, the Droll found himself on the Land of Shores and Prisms – his favorite planet of the eight. Lots of sun, great weather, and stunning rainbows.

The Droll was sure to bring the wine.

He poured himself another glass. The Droll swirled the deep red liquid around, raising it to his nose for an aromatic whiff. The anticipation of tasting that first sip was sometimes more enjoyable than the sip itself.

The Droll opened the front door and stepped outside. The beach was laid out at his feet. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh sea air, feeling the sand between his toes.

The beautiful weather filled the Dersite with a sense of exuberance. The skaialight felt wonderful on this planet. On Derse, far removed from Skaia, the skaialight was weak and provided little comfort. Here it felt radiant and energizing. Gulls cried overhead. Waves gently lapped against the beach. The Droll took his first sip of wine and smiled – life could not get any better than this.

It could, however, get worse.

The Droll noticed the ship when he opened his eyes.

At first he was not certain it was a ship – it actually resembled more a greenish smudge hugging the horizon. Still, the Droll's gut instinct clamored for him to take a closer look, so he retrieved a pair of binoculars from the house and hurried back outside. The magnified view afforded by the binoculars revealed the smudgy object to be a ship. A ship whose hull and sails were a shade of green very close to that of the emerald ocean, making it difficult to see at distance with the naked eye.

The green ship was heading straight for this beach, which could mean only one thing.

The Courtyard Droll reached into an inner pocket and produced his long-range walkie-talkie. This walkie-talkie had been blessedly silent for the duration of the Droll's short stay on LOSAP. Now it was time to turn it back on. The Droll powered the walkie up, tuned into the encrypted frequency shared between himself and his fellow top-ranking Agents.

"Hello? Er…" the Droll stumbled over his words nervously. He never knew when the walkie was working and when it was not. "Hello, this is the Courtyard-"

"_NO GODDAMN NAMES OVER THE RADIO!_" the walkie-talkie squawked. "_How many times do I have to tell you?_"

It was Jack Noir. The walkie-talkie was definitely working. The Droll was quick to apologize. "Sorry boss, won't happen again."

"_Sure, now tell me another one._"

"Another…another what, boss?"

"_Another lie, Clubs. Another lie. You better have good news for me._"

"Yes, boss. The Witch of Light is coming home. She has friends, though. Lot of armed turtle friends. After I say hi to her, they'll be looking for me. Is my extraction in place and ready?"

"_The extraction team is in place, Clubs. All you need to do is signal them with your radio and hang tight. Hey, Clubs?_"

"Yeah, boss?"

"_Don't you fuck this up._"

"I won't, boss."

The walkie's only response was static. Jack Noir had already killed the channel. Saying goodbye was not part of his vocabulary.

The Droll quickly downed the glass of wine. It was a shame to have to chug it, but leisure time was over.

Now, where was a good place to hide?

* * *

><p><em><strong>GRRRGHRGRGH<strong>_

Gwen Twymann tried unsuccessfully to ignore her growling stomach.

How many times had her stomach growled in the past hour alone? Gwen was no longer keeping count. When she kept count, she could start to measure her hunger by the frequency of the growls. Slowly, gradually, the growls per hour increased. Gwen stopped keeping track of the growls when she caught herself trying to create a mathematical formula to solve for her rate of hunger. It was driving her insane.

_Focus_.

Gwen breathed in deeply, visualizing the refreshing sea air filling her entire body with soft blue light before releasing it.

Her knuckles had long since turned white. The blood flow in Gwen's fingers had slowly been constricted by her death grip on the rail of the _Viridian Wind's_ crow's nest. The reason Gwen had a death grip on the wooden rail was because she loathed heights, and the crow's nest was easily a hundred feet up in the air. The fear of falling and splattering helped Gwen forget her stomach. It was gut wrenching at times, exhilarating at others. A strange blend of emotions.

Despite the frantic butterflies in her stomach and chest, Gwen had to admit there was nothing quite like standing atop the mainmast of a ship moving at full sail. She wondered if lookouts ever grew bored. They probably did after the first few weeks of staring at empty horizons, looking for shapes that were rarely there. Then again, whenever the lookout spotted something, bad things tended to happen, so a veteran lookout might actually be _relieved_ to be bored in the crow's nest.

Aristophanes was hunched over the rail next to Gwen. He rested on his elbows, gazed silently ahead, relishing in the quiescence of being so far removed from the activity on deck below. The captain of the _Viridian Wind_ joined Gwen in the crow's nest a few minutes earlier for a brief respite. Ever since unrest began to spread through the crew, Aristophanes had his hands full keeping everyone committed to the hunt for the Library. This was no easy task.

In the near distance, an island broke the monotony of the endless waves. It was the only landmass within visibility. Beaches of fine white sand hugged the perimeters of the island. Dense tropical vegetation filled the interior.

A prism crystal mountain protruded through the tropical canopy, easily six hundred feet tall. It glinted in the skaialight, emanating soft rainbow refractions.

Resting just inland of the beach was Gwen's house. Right where she'd left it.

"Still can't believe I'm coming home," Gwen murmured, breaking the relative silence. "Wasn't sure I'd see this place again, you know? Figures the Library Key would lead us back here."

Aristophanes fiddled idly with the strap of his eyepatch. "I have used this island as a smuggling hole for well over a decade. Could the Library have been under my very nose all these years?"

"Hope so. That'd mean no more mindless searching."

Aristophanes seemed to accept the reply, for he had none of his own. For a while neither of them spoke. They rested on the crow's nest rail, hypnotized by the island's gradual approach.

When Aristophanes broke the silence, Gwen's mind was already wandering through the intellectual corridors. She registered that Aristophanes was talking to her and immediately tuned back in, but he'd already finished speaking. She remembered the sound of his voice forming words, but could not recall the words themselves.

"What? Sorry, I completely zoned."

"Could you tell me about some of the other Heroes?" Aristophanes asked again.

"What?" Gwen was surprised by this question too. "Why?"

"Curiosity," the consort replied. "How often are we afforded the opportunity to know the personalities beneath the legends? In the future, I may even write a novel of our travels. So for what little time I am allotted to be at your side, I wish to know more about your counterparts. Are they anything like you?"

Laughter bubbled up from Gwen's throat. "We're all humans who played a computer game. Most of the similarities end there."

"Then focus less on the similarities," persisted Aristophanes, not to be deterred.

"Well…" Gwen frowned. Shouldn't it be easy to describe one's friends? Why was she having trouble? "I don't even know where to start. Ask me something."

"How do you know them?" the corsair captain asked.

"School, community theatre, marching band…whole bunch of stuff. We all live-" Gwen caught herself, "-_lived_ in the same town. Some of them are even friends of mine."

That interested Aristophanes. "You're not all friends?"

"Nope." Gwen shook her head. "No, we're just some people who know each other. Some of us are friends. Some of us aren't."

"Are they embarking on quests of their own?"

"I mean... Well, sort of. We're scattered all over the place," Gwen replied. "Some of us are in hiding on Derse's moon. Some of us are fighting the Black King's army on the Battlefield. Anna, our Seer of Time, was hopping all over the timeline last I heard. Our Muse is working with a Salamander maestro to bring the rest of her consorts back from limbo. Everyone's busy. Busier than me, it feels like. Our Knight, for example, apparently is gathering all his consorts into a unified army and leading a revolt against the Dersites occupying his planet. Can you believe something like that? And all _I've_ done is sail around and not get killed."

Aristophanes's mouth twitched. "Sounds dull when you phrase it like that," he observed. "I'd phrase it differently."

"How would you phrase it?"

"I would call it an adventure. An adventure full of spectacular weather, during which you even managed to face down a fear of heights and experience the world from the top of a beautiful, beautiful ship." Aristophanes spread his arms wide to the view of the approaching island and the oceans beyond. "See, this makes it sound like an experience worth experiencing."

"And it leaves out all the messy bits," Gwen retorted. "No mention of getting smacked in the face by flying severed limbs? Nothing about how a gun deck smells when it's full of ripped up people? Or the exact sound of metal cutting through a body, that squelch… You'd call all that an adventure?"

"No. I would call that an unfortunate afternoon." The corners of Aristophanes's mouth twitched wryly. "Climbing all the way up this mast for the first time, however? _That_ I would call an adventure. Sailing on a ship like the _Wind_ for the first time? An even greater adventure. Limbs are getting blown off all over the world. It is a part of life on this world. Finding time for adventures when your body parts are not flying off is what makes the rest of life worth living."

"Well…" Gwen hesitated. "I guess there were _some_ positive moments… Still. There were a fuck-ton of negative moments. Some are still stained on my clothes."

_**GRRRGRGLE**_

Aristophanes cast Gwen an inquisitive glance. "Was that your stomach?" he asked.

"Yes, it was most definitely my stomach."

The one-eyed consort looked back out to sea, watching the island draw nearer. "This island could not have come at a better time. Many of those trees are fruit bearing. Library or no Library, at least we'll be fed for a while."

Despite her trepidation towards finding the Library, Gwen had to agree with Aristophanes's pragmatism.

"_I hope there are mangos_…" she murmured.

As the _Viridian Wind_ approached the island, it came time for Gwen and Aristophanes to descend from the crow's nest. They clambered down the rigging from spar to spar until they reached the deck below.

The consorts scrubbing deck near the mainmast cleared away to allow Gwen and Aristophanes room.

As Aristophanes stepped down onto the planks, the scrubbing consorts all flashed Aristophanes a split-second angry glare. Within a blink their gazes returned to the deck. They continued scrubbing, and Gwen was left wondering if she'd imagined the whole thing.

Two more consorts walked past the mainmast, both toting large buckets of freshly prepared drinking water. One of them was Brygos – the gunner's mate Gwen met during her first encounter with marauders. Gwen did not know the other. As they moved past, the consort Gwen did not recognize threw Aristophanes a glare of his own, confirming for Gwen that she had not been imagining things just a second ago.

The hostility in the glare was startling. Brygos noticed the glare, too, and gave the other consort a discreet kick. The glaring consort dropped his gaze before Aristophanes noticed.

Nothon hobbled down the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, where he'd been overseeing the activity in the captain's absence. "Longboats're all ready, cap'n," the gray-shelled consort reported to Aristophanes. "Island seems quiet, it does. All the same, sendin' a scoutin' party wouldn't hurt."

"No, a forward scouting party is quite unnecessary – we'll secure the island after we make landfall," Aristophanes replied. "No more delays, bosun. Not with the Library so close. All that accumulated knowledge - oh, I can smell it already." The turtle-consort breathed in deeply through his nostril slits. "It smells divine. Utterly divine."

"If you say so, cap'n," Nothon grunted.

"I did say so. Now have the lads strike the mainsail and foresail, if you would."

"Mainsail and foresail, aye." Nothon walked off and started barking out names, organizing a group of consorts to scale the rigging and gather up the giant expanses of cloth.

"He doesn't sound very enthused," Gwen remarked to Aristophanes.

"Nothon is rarely enthused unless his life is in imminent danger." The captain of the _Viridian Wind's_ smile slowly faded. "As you have likely deduced by now, we are not the first crew to attempt to find the Library. Many captains have lost their minds over the centuries trying to find it – they devote themselves wholly to the quest and relentlessly pursue it until their crews either desert or mutiny."

Aristophanes stopped for a moment and glanced over his shoulder, directing Gwen's attention to Nothon. The bosun was hollering up the mainmast at the corsairs assigned to strike the mainsail. "_Faster, you shits, climb faster! Time is money in a whore's purse!_"

"In his youth," Aristophanes continued, "old Nothon was part of a crew who chose the latter option after they nearly starved. He is naturally skeptical of our current bid to locate the Library. Strikes up unpleasant memories and such. Views this whole endeavor as a spectacular waste of time. But he will fall in line, as will the rest. And it is _you_, by the way."

"What?"

"If you were wondering what separates us from those unsuccessful crews of expeditions past, it is _you_. No crew who sought the Library of All has ever done so aided by the Witch of Light. Until today, that is. Nothon is welcome to his beliefs. His skill as a bosun more than makes up for his narrow-mindedness."

"A 'narrow-mindedness' the rest of the crew seems to share," Gwen remarked, those glares still fresh in her mind. "What happens if we don't find the Library on that island?"

"Then we'll deal with it," Aristophanes replied. "Though I admit I have no idea how. The crew would be out for blood, and convincing them not to appropriate _my_ blood would be a tough sell."

The consorts who'd scaled the rigging to strike the sails continued to work. Most of the foresail had been stowed away, and now the mainsail was well on its way. The _Viridian Wind's_ speed dropped considerably as it approached the beach.

As the _Wind_ drew within fifty yards from the beach, Aristophanes gave the order to drop anchor.

A flutter of anxiety passed through Gwen as she beheld the island.

Many thoughts were hitting her all at once.

For instance, Gwen had determined while observing from the crow's nest that it would probably take a full day to reach the prism mountain at the center of the island. The distance itself was not vast, but the terrain of the island interior was not friendly. Full of treacherous ravines and cliff edges. And to add icing upon the cake, Gwen was at a loss for how to even go about searching for the Library. Was it buried? It would have to be buried. Where else could it possibly be? It certainly wasn't floating above the trees. So should she just start digging holes?

Gwen fervently hoped the Library Key would offer her some form of direction once she reached the island. If it did not, she and Aristophanes would be forced to find a way to keep the crew occupied while they came up with a solution. If the crew wised up to Gwen's ignorance, she would have close to two hundred angry corsairs to deal with.

So how, then, could she possibly keep nearly two hundred already frustrated corsairs busy? Ask _them_ to start digging holes? How many holes would they dig before deciding they'd had enough? Would they turn on someone who was a figure of their mythology? Would Gwen be able to 'Witch' her way out of it?

"So…um. What now?" Gwen asked Aristophanes, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice. "Where do we even start looking?"

"One hurdle at a time, Witch," the one-eyed turtle-consort advised. "When stress takes you, organize your thoughts into a stairway. Then begin your ascent. This will calm your mind. First I address the crew and see if we can scrape up some morale. Then we climb into the boats. Then we paddle ashore. Then we secure the beach and make camp. Then we find fruit, fish, and firewood. Then we eat. Then we sleep. _Then_ we may worry ourselves over the Library, and not a moment before. Now let us take that first step."

Aristophanes stomped his foot down onto the planks of the deck. His boot made a resounding _**thunk**_. The captain stomped again, then again, and again. He continued to sound off at a moderate cadence, quickly catching the ears of all nearby crewmembers.

The nearby crewmembers took the cue and joined in, stomping to Aristophanes's cadence. The thunder of boots spread to all parts of the deck until every member of the crew was contributing to that thunder.

Then Aristophanes stopped. The crew quickly stopped as well, now lending the captain their undivided attention.

Aristophanes began to speak.

"We've sailed these oceans together for quite some time, guided by Fortune's impulses. Yet what, I ask you, did we sail for? Knowledge? The sense of freedom afforded us by the open ocean? To live a life far removed from the expectations of civilization? I am unconvinced. First, friends, let us be perfectly honest about who we are. We are rum smugglers. The suppliers pay us copious sums of money to transport illegal alcohol from the colonies to the city-states. There is nothing refined, nothing moral, nothing beneficial in what we do. We have been reduced to glorified deliverymen with a penchant for sailing through dangerous waters. Yet Fortune's impulses guided us to the Witch of Light, and in so doing showed us a new purpose which transcends rum smuggling. We were given the opportunity to speed the Witch along on her search. This is now our purpose. I never dreamed this would be an easy undertaking. We have not returned to port in nearly two months. More than that, I have put you in danger of starving. Nothon recommended we turn back from this quest weeks ago. Perhaps we should have. Perhaps he was right."

Murmuring and grumbling permeated the deck.

It was the first noise the crew had made since Aristophanes started speaking.

Gwen's fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the nearest rail.

Aristophanes seemed to be opting for complete transparency. That was probably wise – the crew would be able to detect if he tried to spin a lie or half-truth.

He certainly was not sugarcoating the situation – the crew of the _Viridian Wind_ had been confined to the ship since they'd originally set sail on the series of smuggling ventures which caused their paths to cross with Gwen's. And while Gwen's quest brought the _Wind_ to the Metropolis for a few days, the crew had not been allowed ashore. The decision to sail through the Gray Shoals caused infectious discontent to swiftly spread through the already frustrated crew - lives had been lost there, and the emotional scars still echoed among the living.

To make matters even worse, the _Viridian Wind's_ food supply was nearly depleted. Every member of the crew, including Gwen, was subsisting on several bites of hardtack biscuit per day.

_**RRGRGH**_

Gwen's stomach growled yet again, right on cue. Her hunger had grown to the point where she no longer even bothered to pick the larvae out of the biscuits.

_Focus._

Gwen blinked once, withdrawing from those ever shifting corridors of thought where the hunger was not quite so gnawing, focusing her attention back to the outside world.

Fuck. How long had Aristophanes been talking while she'd zoned out?

"...would likely have mutinied or deserted by this point, yet you have not. That is why no crew before us has found the Library. That is why no crew _after_ us may claim to be the first. Our quest is nearly at its end, for upon this very island," Aristophanes pointed over the rail towards the nearby beach, "the Library awaits us! We shall be the first to experience this knowledge in ten thousand years!"

That seemed to lift the corsairs' spirits a hair, but not by much. At least they weren't glaring daggers, anymore.

Aristophanes concluded by quickly assigning a skeleton crew to garrison the ship and ordering everyone else to the boats.

The turtle-consorts dispersed with halfhearted cheers. They flocked to the railings and got to work. Skiffs were uncovered, attached to their respective lines, and lowered over the side of the ship to the water below. Rope ladders were thrown over the rails, allowing easier access to the skiffs. One by one, the consorts began climbing over the rails, down the sides of the _Viridian Wind's_ hull.

"Sounds like you really got through to them," Gwen remarked to the captain as she watched the corsairs work. "I think you really helped them see the light, there. Good thing the _Wind_ has no roof, otherwise their morale would've punched right through it."

"I find speeches such as the one I just delivered to be abysmally dull," Aristophanes admitted. He swung himself over the railing and held himself there, extending a hand to Gwen. "Sometimes I'd much rather motivate the unmotivated by pointing a weapon at them, but that is a method reserved only for those captains who wish to die by the hands of their crew. I harbor no such desire, so I must use words. And words have far more of an impact than you might think. No one will set foot upon that beach wondering why they are here, for they were just now reminded."

Gwen accepted Aristophanes's hand and climbed over the rail herself. A skiff bobbed in the water below, waiting to receive her. Several consorts had already boarded. Gwen recognized Brygos among them.

All the way down there, down the side of the ship that now seemed impossibly tall.

Fuck, that's a long way down.

Gwen's breathing quickened.

"_Why are you looking down if you're afraid of heights?_"

Aristophanes's question wrenched Gwen's focus away from the water below. She took a few deep breaths and gave herself a moment to calm down. Then she grasped the top 'rung' of the rope ladder and began the awkward descent down the side of the _Viridian Wind's_ hull.

By some miracle Gwen managed to reach the skiff below without falling flat on her face. She stepped off the rope ladder, planting her feet on the bottom of the skiff. Then she let go of the ladder.

The skiff rocked underneath Gwen's boarding a bit more than expected, causing her to lose balance.

Arms windmilling through the air, Gwen managed to instinctively drop into a crouch. This lowered her center of gravity and helped her regain balance. Still, the windmilling must have looked silly, because now all the consorts in the skiff were smirking at her.

Their smirks vanished when Aristophanes climbed down the rope ladder and joined the party.

"Here, Witch, give us a hand," Brygos said, picking up a spare oar from the bottom of the skiff and holding it out to Gwen. His fellows detached the skiff from the lines tethering it to the _Viridian Wind_.

"Thanks." Gwen took the oar.

Everyone in the skiff planted their oars against the _Viridian Wind's_ hull and heaved, casting off. The skiff drifted away from the anchored ship. Gwen tightened her grip on the oar and plunged it into the emerald green waters, slowly drawing it back. It'd been a while since she canoed, but she remembered the basic principle of paddling. Slow, firm, gentle strokes.

The small wooden boat skimmed along the glassy surface of the water. This was the leeward side of the island, so there was not enough wind to cause the ocean surface to churn into swells. The result was a calm glide through relatively still waters.

Were she not occupied with paddling, Gwen might have lain back and allowed the gentle rhythm of the skiff's movement lull her to sleep. Instead, she was mesmerized by the little eddies and swirls created by each stroke of the oar.

Before Gwen even knew it, the skiff was bumping up against wet sand. She could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Part of her wanted the somnolent skiff ride to last forever. No Library to worry about, no disgruntled consorts, no marauders, no-

_**GRRRGHRGHRGLE**_

Gwen's stomach continued to grumble even as she stood up and climbed out of the skiff.

The water was very warm – likely in the high eighties or low nineties. It reminded Gwen of the Gulf of Mexico in July. She'd visited the Florida Keys with her Grandpa several summers ago, and the warm clear waters there had utterly ruined the cold, muddy brown Atlantic Ocean.

Then all those meteors ruined the Gulf of Mexico, along with everything else.

_Focus_.

Thoughts of home were dangerous thoughts. They always led to associated thoughts of extinction. Empty voids. Cut threads.

Gwen steadied herself by gripping the edge of the skiff and hopped out, splashing into the shallow water. Aristophanes, Brygos, and the other consorts did likewise. Together they pushed the skiff up onto the dry sand. Fortunately, due to LOSAP not having a moon, no one would have to worry about the tide coming in and whisking the boat away.

No moon, no tides.

All along the beach, the other skiffs were making landfall, their rowers hopping out into the fine white sand. After all skiffs were dragged up to the dry sand, the corsairs made their way inland towards Gwen's house, where Aristophanes waited.

Once everyone was assembled, Aristophanes divided the crew into four groups – one group would set up all the shelters, a second group would trek into the jungle interior of the island and scale trees to collect fruit, and a third group would gather firewood for the cooking fires. The fourth group was the smallest, comprised of a dozen seasoned fishers. The members of the fisher group spread out along the beach and set up their work stations.

Gwen watched the fishers string and cast their lines. She watched the first of the canvas shelters start to spring up. She watched teams of consorts hoofing it up the palm tree covered dunes separating the beach from the jungle. No one came up to Gwen to give her a task, so she was left with the freedom to choose what she wanted to do. She weighed her options and settled on gathering firewood. This would get her away from the hurricane of activity on the beach, allow her some time to herself.

But first, she needed to change clothes. Badly. She was still wearing the same shirt and tattered jeans she'd worn weeks ago, when the _Viridian Wind_ first took her aboard. Same underwear, too.

That last thought made Gwen shudder. She'd managed to avoid thinking about that for a while. It was decided. She would change.

Gwen slipped away from all the activity and walked right up to the front door of her house. It was already open – just the way she'd left it. She gave it a little push, listened to the familiar creak. Then she stepped inside.

For a moment, Gwen wondered if she'd stepped into a dream. She looked into the family room. Her grandpa's checkers game sat idle on the coffee table. An empty Doritos bag rested on the sofa. That bag of Doritos had been Gwen's final snack before the meteors fell.

One last snack as a real person.

Gwen's heart palpitated quietly.

Right. More thoughts about extinction. Have to be careful about that.

Gwen turned away from the family room and poked her head into the kitchen. Same as the family room, everything in the kitchen was a snapshot of the past. The box of Lucky Charms sitting on the counter, the colorful little magnets on the fridge, the pan on the stove…

Gwen frowned. When did she leave that pan there? She could not remember. Must've been Gramps.

After exploring the kitchen, Gwen took the stairs to the upstairs hall and walked to her bedroom door. She grasped the knob and turned it. She hesitated for a moment, fearing how she might react to seeing her bedroom. Then she pushed open the door.

The sheets and quilt were still hanging off the side of the bed, evidence of when she'd woken up on the thirteenth of April. Gwen usually made her bed after waking up, but she'd overslept that morning. In her rush to catch the bus, she'd forgotten to tuck the sheets back in. She realized this on the bus ride to school and had made a mental note to make her bed when she got home.

She did not remember to make her bed later that day. She was busy playing a computer game.

Gwen walked across her room to the dresser. She opened the middle drawer, which contained warm weather clothing. The shirt on top was yellow, with a black whippet insignia emblazoned on the front. It was an old shirt from marching band – the whippet was her high school's mascot. Gwen picked up the shirt, turned it around.

The back of the shirt was covered in names. Hundreds of signatures scrawled across the yellow fabric in varying colors of sharpie ink. Each name triggered a flash of memory – a face, a voice, an impression, an instrument. Most of the combined Downingtown East and West High School marching band was on this shirt.

Gwen chose the band shirt, as well as a pair of microfiber shorts. She then chose new underwear from the dresser's top drawer and walked out of the room, kicking the door shut behind her. She went into the upstairs bathroom.

The mirror flashed in her peripheral vision, drawing Gwen's attention to the strange girl looking back at her. Her skin had darkened several shades from constant exposure to the skaialight. Parts of it were peeling. Her shirt was in tatters. The jeans, originally reaching down to her ankles, now ended in ragged scraps of denim around her knees.

Patches of scar tissue lingered on her shoulders, arms, and cheeks. Reminders of the Gray Shoals, where the newly-installed railgun overloaded and nearly electrocuted her.

The girl in the mirror looked exhausted. She'd gone through a lot.

Gwen turned away from the girl in the mirror and silently changed into the fresh clothes. She left the ruined old clothes on the floor.

When she was finished changing, Gwen headed for the bathroom door. The shower caught her eye. Did the water still work? Gwen was tempted to check. It probably wouldn't. How could there possibly be running water?

_Focus_.

Gwen left the bathroom.

Maybe she could return later tonight, grab some bodywash, some shampoo, and bathe in the ocean. That would be twelve unique varieties of awesome. Gwen made a mental note as she descended the stairs. Then it was back outside to the beach, through the palm tree groves, across the sun dappled sand. She reached the sand dunes at the edge of the beaches, chose one, made her way up its slope. When she reached the top of her chosen dune, Gwen paused for a quick swig from the waterskin.

She glanced back at her house. Looking at it still felt surreal. Hopefully the corsairs wouldn't ransack the place.

Gwen clipped the waterskin to her belt and left the beach behind, venturing into the jungle.

Trees and shrubs pressed in from all sides. Each tree was interconnected by a labyrinthine network of vines. The vines snaked up and around the trunks of the trees, looping from branch to branch. Furry yellow little critters that bore a resemblance to squirrels darted about the vines and treetops, scurrying about each other in circles.

Gwen smiled – these yellow squirrel-critters freaking _cute_. She had an irresistible urge to play with them, but they always skedaddled when she tried to approach. After several failed attempts, Gwen accepted her ideal role as a distant observer.

The forest floor was home to fern plants and vibrant warm-colored flowers. The ferns were omnipresent; stretching off in all directions, rustling in waves when the breeze sighed through. Gwen was reminded of the sea. She paused for a moment in a clearing and inhaled deeply through her nose. There was a natural saltiness to the sea air, yet it was layered with cloyingly sweet fragrances from the flowers.

For a few moments, Gwen breathed in the aromas and forgot where she was.

_Focus_.

Right. Firewood.

Life without Vyvanse was full of distractions.

Gwen bent down to the ground and brushed some ferns aside, revealing a fallen tree branch and a handful of twigs. She gathered them up in her arms. She then moved towards the next-closest grove of trees, where more branches waited.

ADHD routinely caused Gwen to wander off and chase every little thought that frolicked through her mind.

She picked up a new branch.

Chasing these thoughts led Gwen to new thoughts, which led to newer thoughts in turn, until she found herself lost in an intellectual web of tangents with little to no memory of the original thought which landed her there.

She selected another branch, adding it to the growing pile in her arms.

The attempt to remember the original thought would then lead to its _own_ round of tangents.

Gwen pulled another branch from the ferns. This branch was a little too rotten to make effective firewood. Gwen tossed it back.

Ironically, the original thought would resurface only after Gwen stopped trying to discern it and focused on something else. Then it would flash into her mind. But by that point, the thought had lost its relevance.

Gwen grabbed another fallen tree limb and was surprised to find her arms were about full.

How long had she been out collecting firewood? Twenty minutes? Forty?

Gwen had not kept track of time, so she resolved the entire matter with a single shrug and headed back the way she came. She took her time on the walk back, soaking in as much of the teeming jungle as she could.

The yellow squirrel-like creatures chittered and squeaked from their leafy homes as Gwen passed them by. Every time a ruckus was raised by these adorable creatures, she always smiled and waved. The squirrels never waved back, but she never expected them to.

The closer Gwen came to the beach, the more she crossed paths with members of the _Viridian Wind's_ crew. She'd trekked much further out into the jungle than any of the others, it seemed. For the most part, the consorts left her to her own devices. An occasional grunt of acknowledgment here, a nod of the head there.

She spotted a cluster of corsairs in the grove of palm trees up ahead. Some of them were up in the palm fronds at the very tops of the trees, cutting the coconuts free with their knives. Others were waiting to receive the falling coconuts on the ground. They gathered the coconuts in sacks for easier transport back to the beach.

Not wanting to get hit on the head by a falling coconut, Gwen veered left to circumvent the grove of palm trees. There was a giant mango tree adjacent to the coconut action which seemed comparatively safe to walk under. Its gnarled trunk stood alone in the center of a network of leafy fruit-bearing limbs and branches extending easily forty feet in any direction.

Fortunately, the lowest branches hung nearly eight feet off the ground. Gwen walked right underneath them without even needing to duck. The rhythmic crashing of nearby waves swam into her hearing. The beach wasn't too far up ahead. Soon she could drop all this fucking wood.

Gwen glanced to her right, observing the corsairs at work retrieving those coconuts. They hadn't noticed her. Just as well - her popularity with the consorts had certainly waned. Gone were the days of wine and revelry belowdecks after a brush with marauders. Gone were the lively shanties, the uproarious laughter, the painful slaps on the back. The corsairs' merriment had been starved as severely as their stomachs, and Gwen was feeling the deprivation.

How much longer could she keep this up?

"_Knife! Watch out! Knife!_"

Gwen reacted faster than the speed of thought, dove to the side. Her collected firewood flew everywhere.

A mango thudded into the ferns where she'd just been standing.

A knife thucked into the ground right next to the mango.

Gwen stared down at the knife blankly. That would've left a mark. She looked up to see a tiny Brygos waving down at her from the highest limbs of the tree. She cupped a hand to her mouth and hollered, "Brigs, you fucking shitstain! You almost fucking killed me!"

"_Yes, but I didn't!_" the gunner's mate hollered back. "_That was a nice dive! Good reflexes! Do me a favor, would you? Grab my knife and run it up to me!_"

"Uh…" Gwen's palms started sweating as she measured the height of the tree. Ninety feet? One hundred? Brygos was pretty damn high up. "I can't, I'm carrying firewood!"

"_I don't see any firewood!_"

"That's because I fucking _dropped_ it all! Remember that lovely fucking dive you just complimented?"

"_If you run my knife up to me and help with the mangos, then I'll help gather up your bloody firewood! Have we got a deal?_"

"Okay! Fine! I'll get your stupid knife!" The words spilled from Gwen's mouth before she could even think about them. A second crawled by as the implications hit home. It would appear she now had a tree to climb.

Was it too late to back out?

No… Certainly not…

All the same, there was something about backing out of a challenge that tasted vile to Gwen. It was part of why she'd climbed the _Viridian Wind's _mainmast earlier today. That was a challenge she'd been avoiding for weeks.

Why not this tree, then?

"Shit…" Gwen muttered, her mind made up. She reached down and yanked Brygos's knife free from the dirt, slotting it through her belt. "Shit, shit, _shit_. Fuck."

Gwen took a moment to stretch her legs and warm up before jumping. She snagged one of the lowest branches, got a good grip, pulled herself up the rest of the way. She drew up her legs, securing her footing before reaching up to a higher branch.

The going was slow. Every two or three minutes Brygos would ask Gwen if she intended to give him the knife before skaiaset. Each time, she cussed him out and told him to be patient. She would not be rushed, not when she was this high above the ground. She suspected her explosive reactions were fueling Brygos's needling.

About two-thirds of the way up, Gwen made the mistake of looking down. Her breath caught in her throat. Her neck, shoulders, and arms grew rigid with tension while her stomach flipflopped. _Fuck,_ that's a long way down…

"_What are you stopping for, girl?_" Brygos called down. "_Did you find the Library in those branches?_"

"No, Brigs! No fucking Library!" Gwen gasped, struggling to get the words out. Her perception of the world was starting to spin. She clung to her current branch like it was her source of life. "Just a whole fuck-ton of acrophobia!"

"_What the bloody hell is acrophobia?_"

"Fear of fucking heights!"

"_You looked down, didn't you! I imagine the world is spinning round and round?_"

"Something like that, yeah!"

"_Feel a little nauseous…?_"

"Yes, fucking yes, fucking nauseous!"

"_You need to breathe through it! And to do that you need to relax!_"

"FUCK! Fucking FUCK. Okay. Okay! Okay, I'm breathing. I'm breathing!" Gwen was able to take in brief, staccato spurts of breath, but that was it. Still, it was something. She screwed her eyes shut and focused all willpower on relenting her grip around the tree limb. Ever so gradually, the muscles in Gwen's shoulders, chest, neck, and back relaxed. A more stable breathing pattern was established, which helped move Gwen through her oxygen-deprived mania.

When she opened her eyes, Gwen was careful not to look down a second time. She took a few more deep breaths before finally releasing the likely bruised tree limb and reaching for the next one.

"_That's it, Witch, that's it! You're moving again!_"

It felt good to move again.

After that paralyzing experience, any movement felt good. Even upward movement.

It was a game. It was all just a game. Get to the next branch, gain five points. And at the top of the tree? A shiny gold trophy. "Gotta get that damn trophy…" Gwen breathed. "Just gotta get it… Just gotta get the damn trophy…"

Gwen could see the ocean over the tops of all the neighboring trees by the time she reached Brygos. She kept her gaze straight and did not look below the horizon. As long as she didn't glimpse the ground below and get an idea of exactly how far up she was, she was relatively fine. Skaia was dipping down low in the sky. Rays of skaialight shimmered through the aerial prism crystals.

It would be dusk soon. The sky prisms always refracted rainbows before skaiaset.

"Welcome to the top of the mango tree, Witch." Brygos offered Gwen a wide toothy grin. "Congratulations on just barely making it up here before skaiaset. You may not believe me, but I was rooting for you."

"Here's your damn knife." Gwen removed Brygos's knife from her belt and held it up to him grip-first.

Brygos accepted the knife. He immediately returned to his task – liberating the massive clump of mangos growing on his tree limb. Though this time, his knife grip was a little tighter.

"Thank you, girl," Brygos said. "Saved me two-hundred feet of extra climbing. I would've been stuck doing this 'til dark." The knife cut through the stem of the first mango. It plummeted to the ground below. Brygos selected a new mango stem and started sawing away.

Gwen retrieved a pocketknife from her sylladex and followed Brygos's example.

The gunner's mate was surprised. "Helping me, now?"

"I don't want to be stuck here past dark either. You still need to help me pick up all that firewood, remember?"

"I didn't forget."

"Good."

With Gwen helping out, the giant clump of mangos quickly shrank. Fortunately, no one got clocked by any of the falling fruit. Insults would have been screamed at Gwen and Brygos from below if that took place.

"I have to ask, Brigs," Gwen said as she cut loose her next mango, "why aren't you glaring at me like all the rest? You gonna get any shit for being nice to me?"

"Not all of us are crying for mutiny," Brygos replied. "Just _most_ of us. And our grievances lie more squarely with Aristophanes than with you."

"So…does that mean I'm safe even if there's a mutiny?"

Brygos shrugged. "We probably wouldn't kill you. No, we'd probably try and sell you back to the Assembly. That's the only way we could possibly get some compensation for this whole ordeal. If I were you, I'd find the Library soon."

"Great. Thanks for the advice."

The last of the mangos came loose without any protest.

Climbing down the tree was easier than the ascent. Gwen focused only on reducing her probabilities of falling and splattering, one branch at a time. Brygos was kind enough to refrain from needling her any further.

At the bottom of the tree waited the mangos and firewood. Upon reaching the ground, Gwen and Brygos set about gathering both. They took care of the mangos first – picking up each one and tossing them into Brygos's burlap sack. Once all the mangos were gathered, Brygos kept his word and helped Gwen collect all the scattered firewood.

"Do you actually know how to find the Library, girl?" Brygos asked as he picked up the last few sticks.

Alarm bells clattered through Gwen's mind.

Should she be honest?

"I see," Brygos remarked.

"What?"

"Too big of a hesitation, girl." Brygos handed Gwen the last few sticks, adding them to the pile in her arms. "You were debating whether or not you should lie."

Well, shit.

"I'm hoping the Library Key will lead us to it," Gwen finally said. She started to walk in the direction of the beaches, pulling her wallet from her back pocket. Brygos retrieved his sack of mangos and fell into step beside her. "It's led us this far," she continued, opening her wallet and producing a single captchalogue card. "It should lead us the rest of the way, too. It has to. It was designed by a genius." She retrieved the object from the captchalogue card - the small pyramidal prism crystal from the Noble of Light's tomb. To her surprise, it was emitting a faint white glow.

"That's the Library Key?" Brygos asked.

"Yeah, this is it. Want to hold it?"

"Sure." Brygos picked up the Library Key, weighing it in his palms. "This thing's practically weightless. Is it supposed to be glowing?"

"I think it's a good sign. Never glowed white until now."

"This white glow is what you're banking on, then."

"Yes."

Brygos let out a low chuckle, handing back the Library Key. "Well, Witch, you really don't need to convince me to keep silent. Either the white glow will pay off, or it won't. And if you doesn't, you won't have to worry about keeping your secret – everyone will know you're running around in circles."

"Cool. I'm fine with that." Gwen captchalogued the Library Key and returned it to the sylladex in her wallet. "Long as I can run around in circles privately for a while, we're golden."

Skaia hung low in the western sky by the time Gwen and Brygos climbed over the sand dunes and emerged back onto the beach. The aroma of woodsmoke curled into Gwen's nostrils, carried on the gentle sea breeze. Cooking fires had already sprung up around the camp.

Judging by the sizes of each fire's woodpile, the firewood-gathering consorts had made several trips already. All while Gwen fucked around in a tree.

Whoops.

Gwen quietly deposited her firewood onto one of the piles, hoping no one would ask her where she'd been all this time. Fortunately, no one seemed to care. All the nearby consorts were sitting around the fire, focused more on the dancing flames than anything else. Gwen and Brygos found empty spots around the fire and sat down to relax.

Before long, Skaia kissed the western horizon. The sky prisms shot brilliant rays of rainbow light through the clouds, across the orange-maroon sky.

The cooking fires burned bright. Even as daylight melted away, the beach remained illuminated. Savory aromas fluttered about the breeze, dancing from fire to fire. Coconuts were split open, their milk harvested along with their meat. Mangos were carved into slices and handed out.

Gwen acquired a slice and nibbled on it. She took her time, knowing that eating too much too fast would severely upset her malnourished stomach. She closed her eyes as she munched, focusing fully on the tangy mango flavor.

As their hunger was slowly satiated, the corsairs returned to lighter spirits. A few individuals had even brought their instruments ashore. Pipes and lutes were produced around the cooking fires, where the fishers were already bringing their first round of catches. Music strummed and whistled through the camp.

A sudden savory aroma blazed into Gwen's nostrils, causing her eyes to fly open. The first thing she saw was the skewered golden-brown meat floating under her nose. The meat was still sizzling, the fat still dripping off the crispy skin. It smelled fucking _delicious_. Already Gwen's salivary glands were high-fiving and warming up.

That was when Gwen recognized the skewered animal as one of those adorable yellow squirrels.

"Eat, Witch." Brygos passed the skewered squirrel directly under Gwen's nose. "It's yours. Don't tell me that little slice of fruit filled you all the way to the brim. I could hear your stomach while we were getting mangos. Louder than a bloody twelve-pounder, it was."

"Um…" Gwen's stomach was embroiled in conflict. Yes, there was still gnawing hunger, but…

Shit, why did it have to be the cute squirrels?

"I'm good on the, uh… I think I'll hold off on the squirrel for now… I'm not all that hungry."

Brygos lowered the skewered squirrel a fraction, fixing Gwen with a nonplussed stare.

_**GWRGRBRGH**_

"Holy shit I lied, give me that-" Gwen grabbed the skewer out of Brygos's hand and sank her teeth into the roasted formerly-adorable squirrel, ripping out a band of meat and sucking it down without even remembering to chew.

Laughter erupted from the other consorts gathered around the fire. Gwen barely noticed.

Brygos was impressed by the barbaric display. "The stomach never lies. Were you debating the ethics of eating squirrel?"

"Maybe." Gwen tore another chunk of meat free. This time she suppressed the urge to immediately swallow. She chewed it around a bit, allowing the flavor to fill her mouth. _Then_ she gulped it all down. "Ethics aside, I'm incredibly tired of hearing my gastric alarm clock every fucking five minutes. Gotta take out the clock's batteries, one bite at a time. _Fuck_, this is good…"

Within two minutes, Gwen was left with a bare skewer. A loud belch erupted from her throat.

She wiped the squirrel juices from her mouth and said, "Excuse me."

"From what?" asked Brygos.

"Hm?"

"What do you need to be excused from?"

"Oh, uh...burping."

"Why?"

"Because…" Gwen's brow twitched into a slight frown. "Well… We _always_ say 'excuse me' when we burp. Something we learned to do as kids. Everyone always told us it was impolite to burp without saying 'excuse me'. What's the big deal?"

More laughter bubbled up from the gathered consorts. This time, however, they were sure to infuse the laughter with a hearty belch or two.

"I don't know why anyone would tell you such a cockbrained thing, Witch," Brygos chuckled. "A burp is a burp. Nothing more than an extrusion of gas. And you are taught to apologize for it? Your people strike me as oversensitive."

"Yeah, um…" That stung Gwen a bit. Not the jab itself, but the reminder of home it carried. "Oversensitive. Yeah."

The rest of impromptu dinner passed uneventfully. There were no more mentions of Gwen's old life, much to her relief. The consorts were in much livelier spirits than even when they first sat down around the fire to eat – symptoms of a fuller stomach.

After skaiaset the cooking fires were stamped out and the corsairs gradually trickled off to their tents. Brygos wished Gwen a good night before hopping onto the _passing_ _out_ bandwagon, leaving Gwen alone at the extinguished fire. Most of it had been stamped out, but there were still a few smoldering embers left.

Gwen stayed another few minutes to watch. Embers had such a tranquil way of mollifying an overactive mind. Only after the last ember burned away did she stand up and leave.

She went straight back to her house. Much to her relief, everything was in its proper place. The corsairs had not looted the house. Not yet, at least. Gwen headed upstairs and stepped into the bathroom. The shower supplies were still in the shower. So far so good. Gwen grabbed some bodywash, shampoo, a scrubby, and a towel. Then it was back downstairs, back outside.

Gwen crept across the beach, putting some distance between her and the camp. Once the corsairs were completely out of sight, she headed toward the water. Upon reaching the wet sand, she lay down her towel and undressed. She left her clothes on the towel to keep them from getting sandy.

Electric anticipation hummed through Gwen's body as she stepped into the water. It had been so long since the last time she bathed – she no longer even noticed her own stink. This was going to feel good.

First Gwen dunked her head and lathered her hair up with shampoo. She took her time, massaging her entire scalp with small deliberate circles. Then she tossed her shampoo back to the towel and exchanged it for the bodywash and scrubby.

Gwen took her time with the bodywash. She hummed quietly to herself while she bathed, careful to work the scrubby through every micrometer of her body. There would be no specks of grime left unturned by the end of this particular scouring.

It was the closest Gwen would ever come to experiencing a real shower on this world. She'd really taken showers for granted in her old life. Bathing now for the first time in nearly a month felt akin to removing a heavy winter coat. Her skin breathed for what felt like the first time in her life.

When she was finished scrubbing, Gwen completely submerged and rinsed herself off. She got out of the ocean and retrieved her clothes from the beach, wrapping herself in the towel.

Clean again, at long last. Clean and citrusy.

Gwen made her way back to the house. Once inside, she went upstairs to her bedroom, dried off, retrieved some pajamas from the dresser. She looked at the mirror hanging over the dresser.

The girl looking back from this mirror already seemed more familiar to Gwen than the girl from the bathroom mirror. More light in her eyes, more color in her cheeks. Amazing what a bath in the ocean could do.

"You're gonna wake up tomorrow," Gwen spoke in unison with the girl in the mirror, "and you're gonna get some breakfast. Mangos, probably. Or coconuts. Not the most diverse of menus, I know, but still. Better than sand. Then after breakfast you're gonna hunt down a mythical library. You ready?" she asked.

Gwen was silent for a moment, then allowed a faint smile to color her face and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's _do_ this! Well - sleep first, _then_ let's do this."

She broke away from the mirror and jumped into bed, flopping down on her stomach. She lay there unmoving, head buried in the pillows, eyes closed. Blissful.

When was the last time she'd slept on a mattress?

Gwen, too busy enjoying _this_ time, had no answer.

Only when the snoring started did the Courtyard Droll emerge from under the bed, syringe in hand.


End file.
